


twin flame

by oculeius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Bombing, Brief Depictions of Violence, F/M, Finn is a Skywalker (Star Wars), Fluff and Smut, Force-Sensitive Finn (Star Wars), Kylo is not in the picture sorry, Mentions of Death, Neither is Rey or Poe sorry, Parents Han and Leia, Protective Finn, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Senator!reader - Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The plot of Bloodline had a baby with Attack of the Clones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 39,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculeius/pseuds/oculeius
Summary: “I don’t even know what to call you,” you say, and it sounds more condescending than it did in your head. “Master? General...?”“It’s Padawan,” he says. His eyes flit to Leia, and there his gaze stays. “Padawan Solo.”
Relationships: Finn & Reader, Finn (Star Wars)/Reader, Finn (Star Wars)/You, Finn/Reader, Finn/You, Leia Organa & Reader, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 59
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A completely self-indulgent AU in which (1) Finn is a jedi (2) Finn is Han and Leia's adopted son and (3) Finn is assigned by Luke to investigate an assassination attempt on Leia's protege.

Later, you will realize, surviving a bomb wasn’t the scariest thing to have ever happened to you. 

It _was_ scary. Terrifying, even. But you had always known somewhere in the back of your mind that something like this might happen. You weren’t the first senator to be on the receiving end of a death threat, after all. So as you lie there in the senate chambers, trying to blink away the ringing in your ears and find the strength to wiggle your toes, it’s not terror that engulfs you. More like crippling numbness and shock.

Terror? That’s reserved for when you meet Finn.

It’s only two days after the attack on the senate. Your attendants flit around you like nervous little birds, trying to fix your hair, triple checking your bandages, and angrily turning away any visitors coming to call. All except Senator Organa, who comes by late in the afternoon, when the Hosnian moon is beginning to dip in the sky. She steps gracefully past the flowers crowding the doorway, worry drawing her mouth into a hard line, to come and sit beside you.

“How are you feeling?” The question of the day. 

You shrug off your mentor’s concern, but not without first trying to convey some gratitude. “I’m fine. Really.” Your voice comes out hoarse. You try to smile but the bruise on your jaw prevents you. “Luckier than most.”

Leia nods and takes your hands in hers. The gesture fills you with such warmth that you can’t help but grin despite the pang that follows. “This is my fault,” she murmurs, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard _Leia Organa_ speak with such contrition. “If I hadn’t goaded the Centrists-”

“We don’t _know_ it was them,” you offer gently.

“I _know_ ,” the senator almost barks, her contrition replaced immediately with conviction. You’re surprised and so is she. But she recovers quickly, eyes downcast. Forces a _tight_ smile. 

It’s hard sometimes, to remember that Leia was younger than you when she first became a senator. But as you study the tired slope of her shoulders, you realize she’s getting too old for this. To deal with the fear of the people she cares about being thrown into harm’s way. But she’s gone too far, seen too much, to let up now. The Republic is so close to stability. This is her life’s work. And you know Leia far too well to expect her to retire any time soon.

Leia takes a slow, deep breath and meets your eyes again. “You’ve always seen the good in people. Just remember: betrayal always comes-”

“From those who act the friendliest,” you finish without missing a beat. “I know. Don’t worry about me, Leia.”

And then, thankfully, she laughs. “Oh, but I do. You’re far more trouble than I ever was in the Senate, and that’s saying something.”

Leia stands without warning, and you try to hide the disappointment on your face. Usually when she comes to call, you sit together for hours, drinking tea, discussing new ideas and motions brought forward in the Senate… Sometimes you can even prod her into sharing stories about her days in the Rebellion. Her first impressions of her husband, or her legendary Jedi brother. 

But lately there’s been so much tension in the Senate. Rumors have been circulating about Leia, rumors you can scarcely believe, and the Centrists are asking for too much. Military reform, tax increase… and everyone who tries to come up against them is silenced in one way or another. The worry starts to creep back into her face. She looks more tired, more cautious, more scared. She comes by later and leaves earlier. You try to help where you can, but there’s only so much to do before the wrong button is pressed and… well... you’re caught in the crossfire.

“I’ve got something for you, actually,” she smiles down at you. “You’re not going to like it.”

And then, as if on cue, the door opens and someone comes crashing in, tripping over the flowers in the foyer. The commotion makes you jump - at great expense to the bruise on your ribs.

Then _he_ comes bounding in, grimacing and trying to free the wet soil from his boot. 

You ignore his dark, structured robes for the moment. You ignore the way they swath around his sturdy torso, leaving his bare, taut arms free to move. You even ignore the weapon clipped to his belt, the _lightsaber_ that catches the light of the sunset and reflects it back into your eyes. You don’t even mind the glare. Because for the moment all you can look at is his face. His gorgeous, gentle face and his huge eyes. They look kind. _He_ looks kind. He looks… beautiful.

But then you _do_ notice his robes. You _do_ notice his lightsaber. And you know instantly what Leia has done. What Leia has asked of her legendary Jedi brother. 

“I don’t need protection,” you mutter without missing a beat. “I don’t. Honestly. I’m fine, Leia. I swear.”

A snort from the boy -- who honestly doesn’t look that much older than you -- across the room. “I’d hate to see the opposite of ‘fine’.”

“ _Finn_ ,” Leia says sternly, at the exact same time an incredulous _squawk_ falls from your lips.

 _Finn_. It fits, you think to yourself, despite the offense. It’s sweet. To match his sweet face and _not sweet_ attitude. You would be frowning if it didn’t hurt so much.

“There was an attack,” she continues, more calmly now. “At the Senate. We were opposing a bill brought forth by the Centrists-”

“Yeah, I know,” Finn replies casually. “Luke told me everything.”

Then Leia _sighs_ , and it’s clear she might find him a bit insufferable in this moment. The thought sends a rush of vindication through you. Your impulse to frown begins to ebb.

Leia turns back to you. “I have to leave.” And she’s silent, _for so long_ , as if that is explanation enough. “I can’t tell you anything more than that.”

You stare up at her. She _has_ to tell you more than that. It’s just a matter of willing her. 

But her will is _strong_ , it always has been. She’s equipped with some otherly force that you and everyone else seem to have no effect on. It must be the reason she’s survived an Empire, a Rebellion, and now a fledgling new Republic.

“It’s a mission of great importance. But I’ll be back before the bill is brought back to the Senate. I just…” She looks down at you again. Trying to find words. “Luke,” she offers, her tone irritated and _fond_ at the same time, “was kind enough to release one of his students. For the time being Finn will be looking after you.”

You regard _Finn_ once more, careful not to fall for his sheepish smile. You had never met a Jedi before. Not even Luke. And certainly none of his trainees. They didn’t spend much time in the Core systems. Luke had founded an Academy on one of the planets in the Mid Rim, “far from the politics,” Leia said - and that’s all she _would_ say.

You realize then that this is Leia’s way of making sure you are okay while she’s gone. It’s not to punish you, as much as it may seem like it. But it’s not in your best interest, either. If you do this, if you go along with this, you do so to secure the peace of mind of the strongest woman you’ve ever known. At least when it comes to the matter of your safety.

You owe it to her, to _Leia_ , to _try_.

So you take a deep breath and attempt a smile. “I don’t even know what to call you,” you say, and it sounds more condescending than it did in your head. “Master…? General?”

“It’s padawan,” he says. His eyes flit to Leia, and there his gaze stays. “Padawan Solo.”

 _Oh_. 

You don’t know what it is about that simple little sentence. The fact that Han and Leia have a _son_ , an adopted son, that _Han and Leia’s son_ is training with Luke, or the fact that you had _zero_ idea about any of it. 

Either way... it _stings_ for some reason. 

You throw your own wounded glance in Leia’s direction. “Seriously?” You whisper. “I’m not some experiment for Luke’s padawans to train with, you know.”

“It’s not like that,” she says immediately, her hand on your shoulder. “I needed someone I could trust. To-”

“Babysit me?”

Leia’s grip tightens reflexively. She takes a shallow, sharp breath. Steadying herself. “To investigate the attempt on your life.”


	2. Chapter 2

You’ve been discouraged from watching the news recordings from… _that day_. Even Leia warned you before she left: “Stay away from the optics. Don’t do that to yourself.” But you can’t help it. And Bhejit, your attendant, is too busy changing your bandages to keep you away from the archives. So she resigns to scowl at the back of your head and work as quickly as she can as you scrub through.

You barely recognize yourself when you appear in the recordings. You remember, numbly, that you were wearing your favorite dress. It’s probably ruined now, you think. You don’t even know what’s become of it. It’s probably sitting in some pile of evidence in the Justice Building. Finn is there now, gathering “intel.” 

He insists that he isn’t here to babysit you, Finn. He only wants what Leia wants, and that is to see your nameless perpetrator put to justice. 

You find it interesting that he doesn’t call Leia “mother” when he talks about her. Just “Leia.” But you suppose you’d have done the same. Leia’s like a mother to you, too. But you can’t imagine a situation where you could bring yourself to call her that.

Bhejit finishes wrapping your last bandage and shuts off the recording before you get too sucked in. “That’s enough masochism for today.” And with a curt little bow and a knowing look, she leaves to start preparing lunch. 

You hear the front door slide open and in walks Finn. He nearly bumps into Bhejit and you watch as he reels himself back. “S-sorry.” Bhejit chuckles to herself, trajectory undisturbed. 

Finn has the courtesy to knock on your open door before entering. You’ve already switched the recording back on and are mentally picking at your speech when he steps in. “Senator.” You glance up at him quickly, then back to the holographic version of yourself. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Have you seen this?” you ask. “I trust you have; it’s the first thing I would do.”

Finn regards you. It’s difficult to read his face. “Uh… I have. Yeah.”

You force yourself to watch, steely, detached, as the first bomb detonates. You watch as _you_ look around, panicked, completely blindsided - and then there is…. static. _Just_ static.

Finn lurches forward and shuts off the recording. “You probably shouldn’t.” 

But you already have. 

You lean back in your chair, numb, and Finn stands at attention. He’s not the best with words, you realize. At least not in this situation. “How’d it go at the Justice Building?” you ask finally. “Anything interesting?”

He sighs. “Just trying to catch up, to be honest.” Finn glances out the window. He does this a lot. Apparently it’s easier watching speeders and cruisers zip by along the skyline than to look you in the eye and tell you he knows nothing about who may have tried to kill you. “There’s… a lot of red tape to cut through.”

You venture to smirk. The left side of your face doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the right so it’s easily done. “Why don’t you just use your mind powers to deduce the situation?”

Finn looks at you finally, squinting down at you, probably trying to surmise whether you are joking or serious. “Master Skywalker says we mustn’t use our power to take advantage of our allies,” he replies, suddenly so much more mature. So stern. “And they’re not _mind powers_ , it’s… it’s more complex than that.”

“How so?” He’s silent for a moment, not sure how to proceed. You try to coax him: “I don’t know anything about the Jedi, besides what I’ve read in school.”

He still hesitates. “Well… any legend you’ve heard, I can tell you it’s probably true. Everything I’d heard about Jedi…” His eyes light up like he’s a child hearing those stories for the first time. “Their bravery…”

Then his eyes darken. His lips twitch downward. “Their hubris…” He straightens. “Luke, he — _Master Skywalker_ … He’s determined not to follow the same… that same blueprint. We do things differently.”

“But if it’s easier…” you murmur. “If it means finding the truth—”

“The truth reveals itself,” Finn says, so resolute, so sure. “If you’re humble enough to ask for it.”

“That’s not what happened with Palpatine.”

“Well, those Jedi weren’t humble.”

“And who were they supposed to ask then? _The Force_?”

Finn, flustered, starts to squirm against his collar. “Yes. I guess.”

“Well.” You’re being difficult, and you know it, but that’s always been your specialty. “What has the all-knowing Force told you about me? What’s my truth?”

And then he finally looks at you again, after what felt like an eternity. You don’t realize you’d been wishing for that the whole time until you get it, and once you do get it, his dark brown _huge_ eyes concentrating _hard_ on your face you wish you’d never asked for it. He’s squinting, asking the hypothetical Force about you, no doubt, and you want to call it bantha fodder but then… 

You feel it. Something. No, _it._ Something _pressing_ down around you. A low hum, almost imperceptible, a frequency vibrating around you. _You_. Your… energy. It feels like Finn is… reading it. Manipulating it like it’s some malleable element, unfurling it like some scroll. But that’s ridiculous. That doesn’t happen. 

Except it does. It _is_. Happening. You feel it. You feel _him_ — Finn — reading it. Reading you. And as if all of this weren’t already jarring enough you have to watch as his eyebrows _raise,_ sit there dumbly and watch as he _smirks_ like he’s just come across something scandalous. The bastard.

All at once the hum stops and the pressure recedes. Now the silence in the room is so deafening. You can hear yourself breathe. You can practically hear _Finn_ breathe. 

His smirk has split into a grin. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. You both love it and hate it, and you know those two sensations can exist simultaneously. He chuckles. “I—”

“Master Solo.”

Bhejit is now standing in the doorway, completely oblivious. Finn jumps at the sound of her voice. “Yeah?” He does not correct her, nor reintroduce himself as Padawan. So much for humility.

“Will you be joining us? Lunch is almost ready.”

He glances at you, then back to Bhejit. “Uh-”

“ _Padawan_ Solo would love to stay,” you answer for him. “It’s been a long day of truth-seeking. He must be famished.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you know about Centrality, _Padawan_ Solo?”

It’s been 3 days since Leia had jet off on her top-secret mission that she wanted you to know nothing about. Finn has been lurking around your apartment more than conducting any actual investigation. 

Your bruises have healed _just_ enough for you to take a slow walk around the apartment. And of course, Finn is there, in the main room, studying a sculpture on the mantle.

He jumps at the sound of your voice. And _that_ makes you laugh. Then wince. So much for healed bruises.

“Sorry. You snuck up on me.” There’s surprise in his voice. You take it as a compliment.

“I would have thought you’d be able to _sense_ me, being so familiar with my _aura_ , and all.”

You still can’t get over how it felt. How it felt to have Finn assess you with his weird Force powers. It was strangely… intimate. But seeing as you barely know each other — and he was never gracious enough to share his assessment — you’re more than happy to never experience it again. 

He fixes you with a _look_ that you’ve become rather used to in these 3 short days. You feel like you have to work overtime to understand Finn. You don’t get the liberty of cheating with the Force. But with or without magical mind powers, it’s obvious he hates any jokes made at his expense, harmless or not.

“Well…” he mutters. “I’m new at this.”

You decide to leave it at that and try your best to ease yourself into a chair by the window. You flinch at another pang in your side, and within moments Finn is rushing over to help.

“Easy.” You feel the warmth from his hands against your side, even through your bandages.

Finn’s face is very close to yours when you look up at him, and you’re grateful that your face doesn’t look so ghastly anymore. Besides a split lip your bruises have mostly started to fade. 

You’re not sure what it matters, though, and why the gorgeous Jedi in training assigned to protect you would even care about that.

“Thank you,” you say softly, and he nods. 

Finn straightens up once you’re settled in your chair with your datapad in your lap. He starts to pace around your apartment. It’s silent for a moment before he pipes up again. “Sorry. You … Centrality.”

You smile at him when he turns back to look at you. “Yeah.”

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. And you take that same moment, to watch him gaze out the window. There’s room in his eyes for so much light, so much sparkle and reflection, that you can’t help but _bask_ in it when he’s not looking—

If he didn’t sense you before, he does now. His head snaps back to look at you and you almost flinch at his reflexes. 

You hold your ground. Yeah, you were looking at him. So what? You asked him a question. You’re waiting on an answer.

You worry that there’s still a part of him connected to you, reading your energy as it shifts and ebbs and flows in real time. Reading your mood. Reading your thoughts. You feel a spike of panic and push it down in case your suspicions are correct.

He smirks at you. Then goes back to the window. You bristle at his cockiness.

“They’re the opposition, right?” he asks finally. “Yours and Leia’s.” 

You nod. “In almost every sense. We want a looser government, for planets to govern themselves, more or less.”

“And they want the opposite,” he finishes eagerly. “They want executive power. A stronger military. Centralized government.”

Your eyebrows raise and it’s the only facial expression you can muster that doesn’t cause immediate pain. “Oh,” you say flatly. “You’re pretty smart.”

A withering look flashes across his face and you bite back a laugh with great difficulty. “Yeah,” he says, just as flat. He seems to squirm. His hand clutches his belt, _close_ to his weapon. “Well. You see the signs once… you catch on quick.”

You know you haven’t touched a nerve per se, more _grazed_ one in particular. That of his past. You try to steer away from it. “It’s not _all_ bad,” you try. “They mostly just… want to take parts of the Empire they think were good and, y’know… reform them.”

Unfortunately your attempts to pacify Finn have only made him squirm _more_. He turns his face away by a degree, giving you the shallow curve of his cheekbone, the relief of his jaw carved out in the afternoon light. 

“Respectfully…” he says, soft - _so soft_ \- “No part of the Empire was good.”

You swallow hard, brain working overtime to find a way to _not_ upset Finn. “Well-”

“ _Stars_ , Leia was _so_ right about you,” he exclaims, and you’re not sure you like the new tone his voice has adopted. “You’re willing to look right in the eye of the people that just tried to _kill_ you-”

“We don’t _know_ that they-” 

Finn whirls back on you in an instant: “The people who _could have_ put a hit out on your life, whether to scare you into silence or…” He takes a ragged breath. “You’re willing to look right at them, at everything they stand for, and still give them the benefit of the doubt?”

You sit, patient, as Finn calms down. You hold his gaze. He holds yours. You feel inklings of anguish, and wonder if it’s _him_ , his feelings. If he’s projecting them onto you without realizing. Like the legendary force-wielders you read about when you were small, manipulating the emotions of those around them. You’d never take Finn for a manipulator. He seems too keen on his own autonomy to take it away from anyone else. You’ve seen the scars that peek under the thick swaths of his robes, seen how he resists being touched 

He’s lived a life. But so have you. 

“We can’t be expected to reach any sort of compromise with them if we don’t at least _try_.”

Finn all but rolls his eyes at you, the eyes that earlier held so much hope and light and beauty. Now they darken with condescension. 

“You can’t _compromise_ with people like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

Finn leaves some time after breakfast. He doesn’t come back until dusk. 

The apartment is quiet without him in it. You try to relish in the silence, take this time to get your work done, but you have to admit you miss... the _sound_ of him. Of him trying his best to make as little noise as possible and still managing to knock something over. Of him meditating in the sun, silent but still _so_ present, his energy radiating through the apartment. 

_Stars_ , you need friends.

The sun is dipping under the city skyline and you’re reminded of Leia. Of the last time she visited you, the state you left things in. You shouldn’t have lashed out like you did. Not after knowing her motivations behind wanting to protect you, her fear of not being around to do it herself. You want to apologize but she insisted you wouldn’t be able to reach her. You wonder if that’s true. Maybe she just said that so you wouldn’t try. But if her mission is so important, you’d rather not risk it anyway. 

You’re getting changed for bed when you hear him in the foyer, talking to someone else. 

“...something bigger going on, Master. There’s still so much I don’t understand-”

So he _can_ be quiet when he wants to be. You didn’t even hear him come back.

You slip into your robe and sneak out of your room to peek around the corner. Finn has changed into a billowy, almost sheer shirt that cuts _deep_ at the collar and threatens to expose his chest. He wears his same dark pants and boots, but even his hair is different, hanging in little twists that fall down into his eyes. Your stomach does a little leap at the sight of him looking so different. So much _softer_.

But you’re distracted immediately by the holo in front of him. Finn stares down at a robed figure, his back to you, his voice deep and craggly through Finn’s communicator. It’s his Master. _Luke Skywalker_.

“When you have all the facts,” he says to Finn, “that’s when you can let go. Infer with your _feelings_. Only after. _Not_ before. Otherwise you’re leaning on bias, and that’s a crutch we can’t afford to rely on in these situations.”

Finn nods wearily. “I just don’t get it,” he mutters. “ _Her_. She doesn’t seem to care at all that there are people trying to kill her.”

“She has a job to do, same as you,” Luke says back. “Again, be mindful of that bias. We can’t all run headlong to seek vengeance on the people who’ve brought harm to us.” 

The latter remark is a critique on Finn’s character, you realize. Another clue about his past. You file it away triumphantly, something for you to pick at later. 

Finn dips his head sheepishly. “Sorry, master.” He takes a moment, then smiles wryly. “You know she reminds me of you.”

“The Senator?” Finn nods, and his master barks out a laugh. “Leia said the same. Said I might be more suited to look after her.”

“Leia might be right.”

“Leia’s _always_ right.” A surprising admission. “But my place is here. This is _your_ fight, Finn. Your task alone; I can only guide.” Finn bows his head again and Luke sighs. “Learn more about the girl. She’s the key to all of this.”

“Yes, Master.” Those words sound _so strange_ leaving his lips. They don’t mesh with his irrepressible defiance. He seems to radiate audacity. You can only assume the phrase _yes master_ comes so easily to him because he’s spent Maker knows how long reciting it. Practicing forming the words on his mouth, until they have no effect on his pride. 

That must be what it means to be a Jedi. At least one under Luke Skywalker’s tutelage. To admit fault, to accept counsel and make sure you have the whole story before running with your own theories. _A different blueprint_ , Finn had said. Now you’re starting to believe him.

Then Luke disappears. Finn sits in silence for a moment, Then, he takes a good, long breath and says, “How long have you been listening?”

 _Blast_.

You come out from around the corner. “Long enough.”

He looks up at you finally and you feel exposed for some reason. He takes great care to look away, and you feel a rush of gratitude.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier-” you blurt out, at the same time as Finn mumbles “I can find somewhere else to stay tonight if you-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Finn glances at you, dark eyes shimmering. “Where would you even go?”

He shrugs. “I went by the old Jedi temple. Doesn’t seem so bad.”

You snort. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on some cold stone floor with a bunch of monks because you feel bad about yelling at me.” You start to move to the kitchen, careful to keep your arms folded over your chest. “Have you eaten?”

Finn wrinkles his nose at you. “I- I don’t feel bad,” he whines. “And I didn’t _yell_ at you.”

“You kinda did yell at me,” you say over your shoulder.

He stands abruptly and follows you into the kitchen. “Your _job_ is to sit and argue with delegates from every corner of the galaxy, all day, _every_ day, and you’re upset that we had a disagreement?”

“I have pickled blackbeak eggs,” you call back, rooting through the pantry. “Anything more substantial than that and I’ll have to send out for it.”

“Wh- _stop_ . I’m not hungry.” He pulls you out of the pantry by your arm, careful not to hurt you. Still, the sudden shift sends you completely off-kilter. You stumble and land softly against his chest. You can’t stop your hand from flying up to try and steady yourself, and you end up gripping Finn for balance. You feel the warmth of him through his shirt, feel the muscles of his abdomen _flex_ in surprise. It takes everything in you to recoil before you overstay your welcome. 

Finn breathes in, almost imperceptibly. “....I… I’ve _eaten_ , okay? I ate earlier.”

“ _‘Earlier’_ like breakfast?” You tsk. 

“Stop,” he repeats, but this time he’s laughing. You fight the urge to nag him further and he lets you go once you’re silent for long enough. 

“Well, _I_ want pickled blackbeak eggs,” you mutter, and turn back to snatch them off your shelf. When you face him again he is staring at you incredulously. He shakes his head and starts to leave - then seems to think better of it, and turns back to look at you.

“This bill,” he begins, taking time to think over his words. “The one that… that you and Leia are opposing in the Senate.”

“It’s the Centrist’s baby,” you say simply. “Their ultimatum, I guess. They keep saying there’s too much indecision in the Senate, too much shuffling and murmuring, not enough action. They want to pass a bill that will essentially… create someone _higher_ than the Chancellor. Someone with more influence. Someone that can get more done in a more efficient way.”

Finn bristles at this as you pause to take a bite. “Sounds like an emperor to me.”

You nod. “They call it a First Senator.” You don’t mean for it to sound quite so menacing, but you feel the urge to shudder as your words land. “They think it could help bridge the gap between our parties.”

Finn steps closer to you again, dipping his head down to get closer to your level. “And… you think it’s a bad idea?” His voice sounds so hopeful.

You nod again. “I told as much to the Senate anyway. We enable that amount of concentrated power… it’s only a matter of time before it becomes absolute.”

“And we have another Empire on our hands.” He nods, and you watch as he adds another piece to his mental puzzle. “So you _can_ see reason.”

You scoff. “ _Reason_ is the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You take another _big_ bite and chew very slowly so you don’t have to elaborate.

Finn waits for you to finish before asking his next question. “Leia... she gave me a list of anyone who might feel motivated to…” He swallows hard and you watch his adam’s apple bob. “To silence you. People who may have the most to lose if this bill doesn’t pass. Can you think of anyone… anyone at all, that would want to harm you?”

It takes only moments for your mind to flood with names. You think of friendly faces, of people you have passed in the Senate halls, people you considered acquaintances with whom you’ve shared your passionate ideals. You don’t know if it’s your paranoia or a genuine inkling - you don’t know what to think, really. But all you can hear now is Leia’s tired old mantra: _the ones most capable of betrayal…_

So you shake your head, making the conscious choice to be uncharacteristically impartial. “I don’t know.” The lie feels _gross_ in your throat but you get it out because it’s better than a wrong and biased guess. You try to balance it with something closer to the truth. “I didn’t think anyone could be capable of planting a bomb in the Senate.”

 _Bomb_. The very word seems to trigger the whole ugly memory of it. How it threw you against a hard marble column, how it filled your lungs with smoke, how close you were to being swallowed by that fire… how one of your attendants made sure that didn’t happen, and it cost her her life. Your gaze is on the ground and you could swear Finn can feel your ragged breath. “I just… I don’t know.” You repeat dumbly. “I have to think about it.”

Finn squints at you. The condescension has returned. “Seriously?”

You thought Jedi could sense feelings. He was so good at sensing you before, when you didn’t want him to. Now you feel your chest start to tighten and you _wish_ Finn could feel it too. You try to _will_ him to feel it. At least then maybe he’d drop it. “Please don’t start again, Finn.”

“I’m not starting—” he forces a deep, impatient breath. “I’m sorry. But you can’t be that naive.”

You feel that statement like a slap in your face. You remember the way it sounded coming from the superiors you looked up to the most, politicians you idolized that you had the misfortune of meeting. It sparks the embers of your temper and unfortunately, it’s always taken very little to coax that spark into a blaze of fire. “Oh, _I’m_ naive.”

“A little bit!” Finn barks.

“Last time I checked I wasn’t studying an ancient religion most historians thought to be _extinct_.”

And that. _That_ , right there. That’s what shuts him up.

You feel instantly ashamed. You can’t even look at him. You don’t know how to apologize. You know you want it to be immediate. But the words don’t come. Why won’t they come?

You close your eyes, thinking Finn’s searing, wounded glare will hurt less if you can’t see it. “Finn, I-”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” You venture a glance at him, and his expression is fixed with such resolution that you feel your insides start to squirm worse than before. “You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to agree with me. But you don’t know a _thing_ about me. Where I’m from. What I’ve seen. _Why_ I...” His jaw clenches. “I know my being here is inconvenient.” You try to contest it but Finn is on a roll, calmly and _carefully_ laying out his final statement: “But I’m trying. The sooner you start trying too, the sooner I can leave.”

He turns quick on his heel. He can’t seem to get away from you fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they do be arguing :/
> 
> i just wanted to thank everybody for the kind words! i'm so glad you've been enjoying it so far; i was so shocked that there are like zeroooo finn/reader fics and the farther we get from tros the better i feel about messing with canon. so thank you all so so much and settle in; i'm still writing and figuring out where the plot will be going but i think this is turning out to be a chunky lil fic! next chapter will be a doozyyyyy hehehehehhehe


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: touch isn't my love language
> 
> also me:

Fire. _Fire_ licks gently up your leg, curling itself around your ankle. 

You lay in the senate chambers, ash falling from the ceiling and smoke rising to meet it. When you open your eyes, you register blurry flames underneath you, encircling you, dragging you down, down, down, towards a cavernous gash torn into the senate floor. The closer you get, you start to hear screams — wails and groans that sound so familiar they make your stomach twist. You can hear your own name as you get even closer. You can make out the faces of your parents, your sisters — they reach out with gnarled hands, working in tandem with the fire, working to drag you under...

“No!” You writhe against their grip, against the lash of the flames, you shut your eyes, determined not to see them that way, the people you loved the most and mourned the hardest — you _fight_ to get out—

And suddenly you feel no fire, just the cool weight of silk against your legs and two warm hands cradling your shoulders.

“No,” you affirm weakly, and someone shushes you, lulling you out of your nightmare. “No— I’m _sorry_ —”

“It’s okay,” a deep voice calls out, soft - _so soft_ \- you gasp and _Finn_ is there, in your bedroom, at the edge of your bed, leaning over you. _Holding_ you. “You’re okay.”

You struggle against him, not quite sure he’s real and _if he is real_ this is highly inappropriate. But he holds fast, rubs wide circles up your shoulders and down your arms. He shushes you again, and you feel his breath on your face like a sea breeze.

The light of the moon filters in through your window and Finn looks as if he’s made of blue stone. He looks beautiful. He looks... just as scared as you are. “You’re okay,” he whispers again.

His face is close to yours again. You’re practically sharing breath. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s been this close. Finn has very little concept of personal space, you realize, but you don’t think he means to crowd you. 

Your impulse to be soothed by this moment, to relish in connection with someone _else_ that isn’t Leia or your personal guard, is stilted only when you remember the last time you and Finn spoke. Your shame returns, shame for your outburst in the pantry, especially in light of how tenderly Finn is holding you now. How selflessly he is comforting you.

 _I’m sorry_ , you think, willing all your energy toward it. Maybe if you think it hard enough you can force yourself to say it. _I’m sorry Finn, I’m sorry, I’m_ -

 _Why_?

Finn’s voice. Clear as a bell in your mind, so clear and loud that you don’t even hear yourself gasp.

Finn jumps back. “I’m sorry.” He scrambles off the bed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He starts to retreat and you panic at the idea of being alone again. “No, Finn- please don’t-”

He has the mercy to hesitate, and you’re so relieved. You don’t know what you’d have done if you had managed to chase him away for the third time in a single rotation.

“Please. Can you just…” He stares at you dumbly but does not move. It’s as if he needs you to say it. He needs to hear it from you before he can—

 _Stay_. 

You don’t think it as hard as you did your apology. You’re surprised he heard even _that_ . You didn’t think that’s how the Force worked. You’re reminded of Finn’s remark during your first conversation alone: _Any legend you’ve heard, it’s probably true._ Either way, if it means you don’t have to say the things you're too ashamed to share out loud, you’re all for it.

He returns wordlessly to your side, as if compelled. You scramble over to give him room, once again asking without saying. And he complies, his face blank and apprehensive at the same time. 

Finn sits, but he doesn’t pull the sheets over his leg. He sits and hopes that that is enough. And it is. You don’t have the heart to ask for anything more.

When you wake up in the morning Finn is gone and you’ve got a massive crick in your neck from the awful angle you fell asleep in. For some reason you feel a little pang of… well, you don’t _know_. You couldn’t honestly expect Finn to… to spend the whole _night_ with you, sitting awkwardly at the edge of the bed just waiting for you to fall asleep. Only to, maybe, in a perfect world, fall asleep himself, wake up with his own crick in his own neck, maybe have the decency to share a cup of caf with you--

And it’s as if you’ve just summoned him with your mind, because suddenly your door whooshes open and in walks _Finn_.

Carrying two cups of caf. 

You try to blink past the shock as Finn hesitates in the doorway, offering up his trademark sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I, uh, I had to meditate this morning, but...” Finn gesticulates with the two mugs in his hands, almost sending some of the caf spilling over the sides. He takes that as his cue to move towards you again, to hand you your own respective cup. 

“I asked Bhejit how you liked it.”

You don’t know why but that simple statement makes your heart leap. You stare thoughtfully into your cup, as if it is suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, and hum to yourself. “Thank you,” you say softly.

Finn hovers over the edge of your bed again, eyes trained on you to make sure you don’t object. And you don’t. Of course you don’t. Why would you object?

“Are you...” Finn studies you with care. “How are you feeling?”

You sigh, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Finn. You didn’t have to stay the night.”

“But you were afraid,” he declares, and it takes him saying the words for you to recognize their truth. “You had a nightmare.”

You nod, eyes still trained on your lap. “Uh... yeah, I did, but—“

“And it was about the bombing.” 

It’s the first time Finn has alluded to _that day_ without hesitating, without having to steel himself or choose his words. You muster the courage to meet his eyes.

“How’d you know?” You feel yourself smiling. “You read my mind?”

Finn smiles back but you can tell he doesn’t appreciate your attempt at levity. “I should have known when I was asking you about it yesterday. If you’re not ready to talk about it...”

You force out an “I don’t care” and both you and Finn brace yourselves against the lie.

He glares at you and for some reason he looks so much like Leia. If you had a credit for how many times she had looked at you like that... You see more of her fearful need to protect the people she loves the more you look at him, you see Han’s bravado whenever he _catches_ you looking at him. He really is their child. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Finn says softly. The gentle tone in his voice makes you feel ashamed all over again. “I’m… I’m not here to judge you.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. He frowns right back. “ _Anymore_.”

“So you admit you were a little judgmental before,” you quip. Another trait he shares with Leia, you realize. 

“Yes,” he mutters. “And this is me apologizing. Now drink your damn caf.”

*

“They were freedom fighters.” 

You look up from your second cup of caf. Finn stands at the window, his back to you, hands clasped in loose fists behind him. He doesn’t say anything more, but you don’t know how to respond. You hope your confused silence will be enough.

Bhejit comes out of the kitchen carrying breakfast — enough for both you _and_ Finn. She sets it all on the table and you feel your stomach growl at the smell of it. 

Finn doesn’t turn around until it’s just you two in the room again, alone. 

“My parents,” he says, in a detached, de facto tone. “They were killed, on a relief mission to Onderon. Targeted by one of the last cells of… well, of the Empire.” 

You feel it all start to click, all your arguments, Finn’s inherent defiance… But you wait before you open your mouth, watch to see if Finn is willing to share more. You stare at him, and he stares down at the food. 

“Say what you will about the Empire,” he says, his voice tight. And he smiles, a pained little smile that makes your heart absolutely _wrench_. “They sure know how to find soldiers for their crusades.” 

When you first began your work in the Senate, mostly fighting to bring aid and relief to systems still wracked by the destruction the Empire left behind, you wept constantly. You couldn’t sit through a presentation, you couldn’t hear a testimony, without tearing up. You brought your work home with you, read file after file of refugees begging for asylum in the Core, and cried yourself to sleep after. You were fresh out of school. That feels like a kriffing _lifetime_ ago. 

It was Leia that forced you to toughen up. “You can’t,” she would say, gripping your shoulders like a vice. “You will _never_ last if you keep letting this break you down.” 

You couldn’t bear to disappoint her. So you simply stopped crying. You willed yourself to stop. You hadn’t cried, _really_ cried, for years. 

But now, hearing Finn’s story, putting it all together on what little he’d given you, not knowing completely what he’d been through but being able to imagine it… you have to bite down _hard_ on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself.

You shut your eyes, hoping it will trap your tears. “Finn.” It comes out like a sob. You’re humiliated by how easy it is all of a sudden. How easily you could cry right now. Maybe it’s all the years of suppressing your emotion.

But maybe it’s Finn.

“No,” Finn’s voice is so much closer. It’s because he’s making his way around the dining room table, getting down to your level. “Please don’t.”

“I’m so kriffing stupid,” you whine. Your mind flits between appropriate responses: _I’m so sorry for your parents. I’m sorry for_ you. _You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve any kind of suffering. You’re too good. You’re much too good, Finn._ You cut yourself off before you go too deep down that hole. “I should never have argued with you,” you mutter instead. “I should never have teased you-”

“ _Shut_ up.” He makes a move to reach for your face, to wipe at your tear - but he hesitates. Lets his hand rest on the back of your chair. “Only _you_ could make this about yourself somehow.”

“Stop!” you push at him weakly, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I’m full of more self-loathing than you think.”

“Oh no, I know all about your self-loathing. You’re a politician.” You huff and try to swat at him again. This time he sees you coming, and catches your hand in his. “Stop,” he says, gently. And for the moment you’re distracted, by the warmth of him, how he envelops your wrist in his palm. How _disarming_ his gaze can be, especially up this close. You try to keep busy by reaching up to dry your own tears.

Finn watches as you worry at your bottom lip. His eyes flit down to your mouth, and they stay there for less than a moment before meeting your gaze again. Another painfully silent moment passes before he speaks up again. “I didn’t tell you to make you… feel this way.”

You dry the last of your tears with a harsh swipe of your shoulder. “Then why?”

Finn hesitates, content to just… stare at you for a few more moments. You can almost see the response clicking together in his head, and this gives you time to imagine what he’s going to say. You remember something about the old Jedi code, something about forming attachments, and wonder if that was part of the old blueprint that Luke Skywalker had decided to throw out. If that has anything to do with his admission this morning. 

“Last night, you trusted me enough to let me see…” he cocks his head playfully. “ _All that_.”

“ _Finn_ ,” you plead. But you’re smiling again, however unwillingly. Finn seems satisfied.

He smiles too, but his eyes are still sad. He lets go of your hand and lets it rest in your lap. When he pulls away, you can’t help but feel disappointed. “I just wanted to return the favor.” 

You try not to let yourself… _feel_ … anything, lest Finn sense it on you. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling, but you know you want to keep it to yourself. You know you want to save this feeling, the feeling of looking into Finn’s eyes so close up, the feeling of him looking into yours, glancing at your mouth and back - to think about later, when you’re alone - and _stars_ , why does that sound so wrong?

Think about something else. Anything else. Don’t think about Finn’s eyes. And definitely don’t think about his own mouth, pursed and perfect and _for once_ not weighed down in a frown. 

“My parents were politicians,” you say quietly. It’s the first thing you think of that has nothing to do with Finn. 

He realizes what you’re doing as soon as he hears the words. His eyebrows turn downward again and he reaches back for your hand. “Hey.” His voice is gentle, but stern. “That’s not why I told you either.”

“I know.” That doesn’t deter you. “My parents were politicians,” you repeat. Brace yourself to continue. “Killed in an explosion… ironically enough.” Finn’s face twists in sympathy, despite your attempt to force a wry tone. You take a deep breath. “They - this terrorist cell on Chandrila - they… planted a bomb on their landing pad. They meant to scare them only, I think, but…” You feel Finn’s grip tighten, just by a bit. You squeeze back. “They… my parents… they were Centrists.” You feel ashamed to say it. But you owe Finn the truth. It offers even more context to your past argument, your hesitation to vilify the opposition. 

You laugh in an attempt to disguise another sob. “We used to fight,” you add, maybe to make it seem better. “ _All_ the time. My sisters and I… we did _not_ get it. How some of the most loving people we knew…”

“Could side with the Empire?”

You nod heavily, glad at least _he_ had the guts to say it. You’re suddenly so afraid he’s going to hate you. “I know it’s disgusting. I know _I’m_ disgusting-”

“You’re not disgusting!” Finn cries, frowning like your self-deprecation has somehow offended _him_. “Stop. You’re _not_. Don’t ever say that again.” 

The sudden authority in his voice makes you shut right up. He sighs, searching for the words, and squeezes your hand again to stall. “Listen. I know I… I know we’ve argued. I know we don’t… _see_ eye to eye on everything.” He looks up at you, eyes almost hopeful, and shrugs. “We don’t have to, though. We’re different people with different experiences. Sometimes they make us what we are… Sometimes...”

You nod again and lower your eyes. He doesn’t have to finish. 

His hand squeezes you tighter. It forces you to look up at him again, and you notice how stern he looks now. How much more resolute. “Listen,” he says, voice low. “I’m going to do everything in my power-”

“Senator.”

You try to curb your exasperation as Bhejit returns from the kitchen. She looks flushed. Finn backs away, leaving you room to get to your feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Senator Organa. She’s back.” She takes a breath and you use the time to process… _that_. “And she’s requesting your presence.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh Yes, long time no see. had to leave you guys on a little cliffhanger ;) but i've made up for it with a nice, juicy lil chapter. and a few cameos!

Finn follows close behind you as you power-walk to Leia’s office. Which, you think, is something of a feat; you’ve always walked quickly, your way of compensating for your short legs. You glance over your shoulder to make sure that Finn is still there, and he is. He raises his eyebrows at you. Is he impressed at how fast you manage to move with a massive bandage suffocating you? He should be, because it’s still painful.

Leia stands with her back to the door when the two of you enter. You catch the glimpse of a blue wibbly figure over her shoulder, hear a snatch of a gruff, perturbed voice. _Han._

“I don’t know what to tell you, Princess,” you hear him say. Finn pauses in the doorway, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You both hang back, careful not to interrupt, and most importantly not to sneak up on Leia. “It’s tricky. But I know better than to tell you what to do.”

Leia’s shoulders shake with a weary laugh. “Better than anyone.” She takes a deep breath. “…What if I was asking you to?”

You glance at Finn, who stares at Leia’s back. You don’t think you’ve ever heard that lilt in her voice. That sense of uncertainty. 

You hear Han sigh. “ _Sweetheart_ ,” he murmurs.

It’s been more than 30 years. 30 years and their care for one another hasn’t seemed to wane. You feel a prick of jealousy, of yearning, but also of happiness. For what they have. “You’ve gotta tell them the tru-“

“Oh!”

You _jump_ at the tinny little sound of Threepio’s voice. Finn heaves a sigh of his own as the gold droid comes toddling in from one of the interior rooms. “Mistress Leia, you have visitors. Master Finn and-“

“ _Thank you_ , Threepio,” Leia mutters meaningfully, and that shuts him right up. She turns back to Han. “I’ve gotta call you back.”

“Do what you gotta do.” And with that, Han’s holo fizzles into the air. 

Leia turns swift on her heel and takes you in. You study her in turn. She has never looked more weary. But seeing you, her shoulders hang down in relief. “How are you feeling?” she asks, reaching for you. “Has _he_ been behaving?”

“Hey,” Finn warns, voice high and wounded like a child’s. Leia rolls her eyes as you take her hand. “I’ll have you know, I’ve been doing a great job.”

Leia glances at you to concur. You don’t know why but you feel sheepish as you vouch for him. “He’s been very attentive.” That seems to satisfy her. “Uh… how was your thing?”

She bows her head, in that way she does, when she’s searching for the first words of a very long story. “Threepio,” she says. “Would you get us some tea?”

Threepio goes rigid. “Oh,” he replies in a hurt tone. “Naturally, Princess Leia.”

He whirs on into the kitchen, leaving the three of you alone. Leia eases herself into the nearest chair, and you wonder if she’s even changed out of her travel clothes before summoning you. 

Finn opts to stand, like a sentry, by the door. You fight the urge to stand by him, but… that would be weird. So you sit as close to Leia as you can. 

“First... tell me. How’s the investigation going?”

Finn glances to the window, his default. “We may have lifted footage of the bomber. A _suspected_ bomber. They’re working on cleaning up the image now.” 

This is news to you. You turn to Finn, who is still looking out the window. Why didn’t he tell you?

When Finn turns back to the two of you, he looks only at Leia. You feel yourself frown, and try your best to project your frustration into the room. Leia and Finn _both_ ignore you. “What about you?” Finn asks. “Anything for me?”

Leia shifts in her chair. “Are you familiar with Ransolm Casterfo? Of Riosa?”

“The _Centrist_? I thought you didn’t trust them.”

“I don’t,” Leia drones robotically. “Or… I _didn’t_. But Casterfo has proven to be a very…” You glance at Finn, whose expression mirrors yours, as Leia chooses her words. “Useful… ally. He accompanied me on my mission.”

“Which was…?” Leia glances up at Finn. His hand has found his belt and is gripping it for dear life.

Leia raises her eyebrow at him and Finn’s shoulders slump in repentance. “I’ve been investigating intel about a cartel in Bastatha. One that’s been threatening the planet Ryloth. They had significant ties to the Empire during the Civil War. Without their presence, though, they’ve still been able to grow. _Considerably_.”

You’ve heard of this cartel, rumored to be run by someone called Rinnrivin Di. 

Threepio returns with tea. Leia takes a glass, but you refuse and so does Finn. Threepio remains expressionless but you _know_ he’s miffed. You’ve never been more sure about anything. 

He retreats again without a word, and you have a feeling someone is going to get an earful later. Nevertheless, Leia soldiers on.

“Ransolm believes someone may still be funding them anonymously. He thinks they may have been hired to silence the Populists.”

“He should probably have a conversation with his party members, then,” Finn mutters, arms now crossed. 

“Don’t worry; the same thought occurred to him.” That should be good news. But Leia stares gravely into her cup, as if she’s reading her future and she doesn’t like what she sees. She reaches for your hand again. “My dear.” You feel yourself squeeze her hand at the sound of that title. “I can’t do this for much longer.”

That statement falls like… well, like a bomb between the three of you. You had wondered as much to yourself, considered how much longer Leia would remain in the Senate. But you didn’t think it would be this soon. There always seemed to be something to fight for, something to straighten out, some project or some planet in need of Leia’s almost superhuman abilities. 

But not anymore, apparently. “The deadlock…” she continues, suddenly exasperated. “The bickering… If I wanted to argue 24/7 I would be on the _Falcon_.” At that, Finn snorts. Leia glances up at him, and manages a smile. Then, she rubs the back of your hand. Takes a deep breath. “The Senate is turning into a political quagmire. And it’s our own fault. After Palpatine - well… you’re too young to remember this. Nobody wants one person to have that much power again. Mon Mothma got things done through sheer charisma.”

“But everyone after her has been useless,” you finish, quick to recall your history. 

“Pretty much,” Leia answers wryly. “People seem more concerned with rumors and intrigue than leaving the galaxy in a better state than we found it." What she's about to say takes a little more courage. You wonder if this was the truth Han was encouraging her to spill. "I think I’m going to step down. Soon. But not before we resolve this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

You can’t meet Leia’s eyes as you receive this news. This _monumental_ news. You feel her eyes on you, feel Finn’s eyes, too. And you force yourself to get over it. So your idol, your mentor, the reason you ran for Senate in the first place, is stepping down soon. So you’ll be alone in a city you actually kind of hate, surrounded by snakes you feel the exact same way about. So what? Leia’s taught you all she knows. She can’t hold your hand forever.

“I’m not going to rest until this bill has been shut down completely. Until there is no need whatsoever for a First Senator.” You finally find the courage to meet her eyes. “And you can be safe.”

You will never be safe, you think. Not really. Not without Leia. You have half a mind to retire yourself. But you choose instead to put on a brave face. For Leia’s sake. Always. “Okay,” you breathe. “I trust you have a plan?”

*

“Have I mentioned what a horrible plan this is?”

You can hear Finn pacing the length of your room as Bhejit removes your last bandage. The two of you are separated by a paper-thin divider, so you’re free to roll your eyes. 

“Your concern has been noted.” Bhejit taps your shoulder and you turn to step into your gown for dinner tonight. Leia has orchestrated a gathering in the Senate banquet hall for Populists and Centrists to meet on neutral ground and discuss the future of the First Senator bill. “And,” she’d said that morning in her office, glancing almost mischievously at Finn, “perhaps you can use this time to find our suspect.”

Finn is in no way looking forward to dinner. And this is your first real outing since the bombing; you are nervous too. Maybe it’s adding to his own apprehension.

Bhejit begins to tighten at the straps at the back of your dress and the force pushes the air right out of you. 

“Okay, not so tight,” you whisper.

“What’s the matter?” Bhejit whispers back. “Afraid your Jedi protector will be too distracted?”

Your mouth falls open in an indignant scoff. You search for an appropriate comeback to let Bhejit know how _in_ appropriate that comment really was. But all you can think of… is… “Shut… _up._ ”

 _Nice one._

Bhejit comes around to straighten your necklace. “Oh,” she mutters. “You sure showed me.”

You swat at your attendant but it does nothing to hamper the grin on her face. Fortunately she doesn’t say anything more as she steps out of the way to reveal your reflection in the mirror. 

The last of your wounds are melting into thin, sinuous scars thanks to Bhejit’s dutiful bacta gel application. You turn to appraise the scar running up your right side; it almost follows the hem of your dress as it dips from the top of your ribs to the base of your spine. Your dress dips accordingly too, held up by thin straps that criss cross every which way and leave your back tastefully exposed. But it doesn’t distract from the massive jeweled necklace latched tight against the column of your throat. Leia’d let you borrow it, along with a silver chain that Bhejit has woven into a complicated and _heavy_ knot through your hair. 

If you’d had your way you’d be hiding your scars beneath the layers of a long-sleeved dress, maybe with a shawl to top it off. But Leia had insisted that it would be better to show everyone - your own party included - not that you were invincible. But that you weren’t afraid. You had been scathed, but you weren’t about to let anyone scare you into silence. “If your bomber is among us,” Leia said, “they need to know it’s going to take more than _that_ to shut you up.”

You remember how your chest tightened when she said that. You wouldn’t call yourself meek by any stretch, but you also were not one to goad your antagonizers. Not with so much - _your life_ , for starters - at stake. You’re starting to feel more like bait the closer the banquet gets.

You try not to squirm, for fear that the dress, cinched _so tight_ at your waist, will burst right off if you make one wrong move. “You don’t think it’s too much?” 

Bhejit smiles at you, reaching for the little partition. “Why don’t we get a second opinion?”

Finn skirts to an abrupt halt when he gets a glimpse of you. You’re distracted by the scuff marks his pacing has left on the carpet - or maybe you just don’t want to look him in the eye. Not when he is looking you up and down, almost appreciatively, but not without a hint of astonishment. You wonder if that’s too strong a word… if that’s giving yourself to much credit.

“Wow. I…” Finn blinks. Opens his mouth. No sound comes out. He shakes his head dumbly. “Uh - _wow_. You look-”

“Like a person again?” Bhejit finishes gently. You don’t know whether to be offended or flattered. 

That same indecision is mirrored in Finn; you watch as he struggles to decide whether he should agree. 

It doesn’t take him long to make up his mind. He looks at you firmly, and dips his head toward you to make sure you see him. “You look amazing,” he murmurs, so full of sincerity. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with this.”

You don’t realize you’re wringing your hands as you step towards him. Not until Bhejit brushes past you, tapping gently at your wrist. You stop and let your hands fall to your sides, but even _that_ feels weird. “Of course,” you say immediately, and you wish you could believe yourself. “It’s for Leia.” That, at least, you can say with a fair amount of conviction. 

And Finn seems to agree, however begrudging. He steps to the side to allow you to pass and falls into step directly behind you. Bhejit leads you out of your apartment and down the hall to the elevators. She is silent - you all are - as you step into one of the lifts. Finn enters first; you follow close behind. Bhejit enters last, acting as a buffer between you and the elevator door. 

You feel Finn behind you, his warmth, his weight, and you don’t know what you would have done if he wasn’t there. You glance back at him, over your shoulder. He looks overtly handsome tonight, having exchanged his dark, sleeveless robes - made out of a scratchy, burlap-y material - for shades of white and silver and iridescent, satiny layers. You’ve studied enough history to recognize the Alderaanian style. The fabric gathers at his waist and pools under his belt and down to his feet, splitting over his legs — lest anyone forget his clunky, obviously standard-issue Jedi boots. He’s wearing his hair in twists again but he’s pushed them back this time, off his forehead, and it suits him. _Stars_ , does it suit him. 

“You look very ‘wow’ yourself, by the way.” The words barely seem to make it past your bare shoulder, you’re so afraid to say them. But Finn still hears, and immediately straightens in surprise. 

He smiles like it’s the first time someone has ever complimented him, at least like that. You want nothing more than to do it again, just to see the way he lights up, just to hear the timid little way his “thank you” rings in your ears. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks after a bit of silence.

His hands fold behind his back, the sleeves of his shirt straining to contain his arms. You keep your hands clasped in front of you, and you’re about to start wringing them again but you don’t want to be scolded. So you drop them to your sides and force yourself to nod.

“Yes.” And even if you’re not… you have to be. What’s a few hours of conversing with the enemy, with fascist sympathizers, in this insufferable dress, less than two weeks after you narrowly survived an attempt on your life? You’ve certainly been through worse. 

Finn sighs. You wonder if he believes you. 

You return your eyes forward, staring at the back of Bhejit’s head, studying the shell-like coil of the bun at the nape of her neck and the fabric of her almost-matching dress. 

“Just know,” Finn says, his voice so close to your ear. You pray to everything you believe in, even to the Force, that he does not notice your skin go prickly with chills. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not tonight.” You feel him lean forward. His knuckles brush deliberately against the back of your hand. “Not ever.”

Your hand _burns_ where he’s just touched you. You reach out and grasp at his fingers, completely unaware of what you’re doing until you’ve done it. 

Finn goes a little rigid. He’s just as surprised at your clumsy attempt as you are. But you feel him relax just as quickly, and his hand slips out of your grip for just a moment, before his fingers lace more comfortably between yours. 

You squeeze. Your chest feels tight, _so tight_ \- have you forgotten how to breathe? 

The lift dings just as Finn squeezes back. You have to pull away. It takes everything in you to pull away, to drag yourself from the tethering warmth of Finn’s large, calloused, _safe_ hand. But you do it. And the doors slide open. And Bhejit leads the way out into the banquet hall. And you have to follow. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLOODLINE STANS COME GET YOUR JUICEEEE  
> also heed the tags everybody, it gets a little bumpy this chapter.

“Senator Casterfo, I trust you’ve met my protege?”

His eyes are just a tad sunken into his skull. His cheekbones jut proudly out from under his pale skin. And his lips are thin, but Ransolm Casterfo purses them just right as he takes your hand and bows a little at the waist.

“I haven’t, I’m sorry to say.” Whether he’s lying or sincere, it doesn’t matter. He looks sorry enough. You wonder if this is how he gets his way so often in the Senate.

Finn stands a ways off with Bhejit; both watch you like hawks. You feel their eyes on Senator Casterfo, and on Leia as she introduces you. You also sense the eyes of everyone in the party, all concentrated on Finn, on his lightsaber, on his flowing Alderaanian dress shirt. You can practically hear their whispers as they size up _the Jedi_ ; “ _I thought they were_ extinct _,_ ” “ _Seems like Casterfo isn’t the_ only _Senator collecting relics from the old Republic_.” 

You turn back to the senator in question, just as he squeezes your hand. “You’re a _junior_ senator, if I remember correctly?”

You suppress that ever-present urge to glare and instead offer him a curt nod, slipping your hand out of his. “Yes,” you reply tightly. “I’ve been very lucky to shadow Senator Organa these past few years.”

Ransolm regards Leia with a surprising reverence, a respect rarely seen between Populists and Centrists. “Lucky is certainly an understatement. I cannot tell you what I'd give to have had such a diligent mentor.” 

Leia smiles. Is she… _flattered_ by him? 

“Well,” you huff. “I’m sure someone like that is difficult to find among Centrists.”

Leia’s eyes are like daggers when she turns her gaze on you. You feel her energy, can practically _hear_ her scolding you loud and clear, and you are already imaging the earful you’re going to get later. But you stay locked on Casterfo, smiling a pleasant smile, which does not match his - much to your amusement.

“ _My_ , Princess Leia.” You try hard not to jump as a woman with tan, golden skin and hair black and slick like oil almost materializes from behind Senator Casterfo. Her eyes are sharp, perpetually narrowed by either suspicion or condescension. You know them well from hours of sitting in the Senate, listening to her argue the lost cause of the Centrists. You have never been this close to her, but knowing what you know about Carise Sindian - or _Lady Carise_ , as she insists others call her - you would have preferred to never have had the pleasure. 

She purses her lips, painted almost the exact same shade of red as the dress she wears, and cocks her head at you. Appraising you. “Your assistant gives her opinion very readily for such a political novice.”

She speaks about you as if (1) you aren’t even there and (2) she’s much older than you. But you know, from being forced to study up on the Centrists, that though the latter is true, it’s only by a few years. 

You keep your mouth closed as if your jaw were wired shut. Best to leave Leia to the pleasantries. You’re so close to seeing red, you don’t know what you might say if given even half the chance.

“Unfortunately it doesn’t take a novice to _notice_ the riff in the Senate, Lady Carise,” Leia finally says. “For some of us, the constant bickering between our two parties is all we’ve ever known.”

“I assure you, we aren’t as bad as all that,” Lady Carise purrs. Her hand finds a way to clasp onto Ransolm’s shoulder, and you’re not sure he likes it. “We _can_ see reason, believe it or not.”

Ransolm forces his smile to widen, shifts his weight and clears his throat, turns up the charm to ten. “I know our parties haven’t always seen eye to eye…” An understatement if you ever heard one. “Leia and I, however…” 

_Leia_. There’s something so wrong about the way he says it. About the fact that he’s _allowed_ to say it. You want to snatch her name right out of his mouth. 

“We are proof that concessions can be made,” Casterfo continues. “Compromise is possible. It’s only a matter of communication.”

 _You can’t compromise with people like that_ , you want to scream. But you keep it to yourself and try to find Finn in the crowd. 

He’s even farther away now and you’re not surprised that this upsets you. His eyes lock with yours almost instantly, and you feel a little thrill at the fact he seems to sense you searching for him. He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. _Are you okay?_ he seems to ask. You smile back, a smile that you hope can reassure him.

“A lot of delegates find it difficult to communicate with people who align themselves so closely with such an oppressive regime,” you respond, and hope you sound civil enough.

“I understand that,” Ransolm murmurs thoughtfully. “Many of us were at the mercy of the Empire. I am no exception.” 

Leia regards him with sympathy. She obviously knows something you don’t, and you wonder how much time they’ve spent communicating. 

“But the galaxy needs a strong system in place. A standard for wayward planets. Strong leadership to lean back on. Better economic management. Law and order.”

 _Law and order_. If you could go a rotation without hearing _that_ tired rhetoric. You glance at Leia, incredulous. What exactly does she see in this man? 

“That means different things to different people, Senator Casterfo.” You try and fail to keep the threatening tone out of your voice. “And you would do well to remember that.”

You can just barely make out the sound of Lady Carise’s laughter over the blood rushing in your own ears. “Well, you _are_ bold. And here I was wondering how such a sweet-looking thing could have amassed so many enemies so quickly.” Your gaze snaps to Lady Carise just in time to catch her looking you up and down again.

For the first time Casterfo’s eyes seem to darken. He takes a step closer to you, dangerously in your space. “Senator-”

“Pardon the interruption.”

Finn stands behind you, arms behind his back, his lightsaber glinting like the chandelier above your head. “It’s time to take your medication.”

You don’t have any medication. You know it. Finn knows it. Hell, even Leia knows it. But that doesn’t stop you from gathering the hem of your dress in your fist and turning to follow him. 

Leia clears her throat. _Loudly_. You’ve forgotten your manners, apparently. 

You turn. Curtsy. “It’s been a pleasure, Senator Casterfo.” You muster a smile for the bitch in the blood red dress. “Lady Carise.”

When she speaks again it is to address Leia, not you, despite the fact that she’s looking right at you. “I’ll find you later, Senator Organa. We must discuss the governorship of Birren. As you know, Lord Mellowyn has passed away-”

“Of course, Lady Carise.” Leia’s smile looks too much like a grimace from where you’re standing. But Lady Carise turns in a sweeping motion and disappears into the crowd. When she’s gone, Ransolm smiles, dips his head to bow at the neck. “I hope we can endeavor to exchange more ideas in the near future.”

You sincerely don’t. But you can’t let your expression betray that. Either way, you’ve done your part. You’re free from his insufferable _ideas_ for the rest of the night. And if Leia is cruel enough to drag you back into that sarlacc pit of a conversation, you don’t know what you’ll do.

The air is cool out on the terrace as Finn leads you outside. You take a huge, desperate gasp like you haven’t had the chance to breathe, _really_ breathe, all night. And that’s partially true, with all the Centrists watching you, judging you, gawking at you in your backless dress, like you’re flaunting your scars, almost taunting them with your defiance.

Finn watches as you collect yourself. “Sorry,” he mutters, glancing back into the banquet. “You looked like you could use an out.”

“Don’t apologize; you were right on the money.” You lean against the balcony railing for support. Everything seems to be out to cut off your air supply: your dress, your necklace, the party, the guests. You force your mind to quiet, and stare out into the skyline. You can see why Finn seems to find this so calming.

Finn stands between you and the door, glancing back at the spectacle inside. Almost guarding you. You wish he were closer. Maybe if you wish it hard enough…

“How’s the investigation?” you ask into the night. Finn _hmmphs_ somewhere behind you.

“Fine. I guess.” You think you’re imagining it when he comes to stand beside you. He still keeps his eye behind him, his body turned toward you, one arm relaxed on the railing. “Everybody in that room could be capable of planting a bomb. Or _hiring_ someone to plant a bomb. That’s the problem with politicians.”

You wrinkle your nose playfully. “Ouch.”

He turns to face you again, only slightly perturbed. When he speaks, it’s in that way he does when he knows you’re trying to start a debate that he doesn’t quite have the energy for. “Come on. You know I didn’t mean-”

“Finn, I’m just teasing.” You smooth your hand over his arm, to calm him. You want to keep it there, but you opt instead to give him a fleeting squeeze, and make your mind up to let him go. “Besides, I’d rather be a politician than a Jedi. Sure, you get a cool little sword, but then there’s that pesky attachment rule.”

Finn smirks, looking down at you over the tip of his nose.

You realize you’re still holding him. Funny, you thought you had let him go already. You begin to retract your hand from the cool fabric of Finn’s shirt. It takes longer than it should; you end up dragging your palm down his forearm, skirting over his open hand. Your fingers brush against his. 

Finn’s hand follows yours in an instinctive jerk. He bumps into your arm, but he keeps his knuckles there. Your whole body seems to thrill at the sensation of his skin touching yours. 

“What attachment rule?” Finn whispers, and you don’t know if he’s teasing or not. Your heart is beating too loudly in your head for you to focus long enough to discern.

You decide to play along. “You know.” You tear your eyes away from his face to look back out to the skyline. “Jedi can’t have attachments. It’s forbidden. You have to set it all aside. Duty over love.”

Finn is uncharacteristically silent. The vacuum is intoxicating; you feel it ringing in your ears. You’re suddenly too aware of how rigidly you’re standing. It doesn’t feel natural, and it won’t be as long as Finn continues to touch you. As long as he flexes his hand, to take more of your arm beneath his fingers. His hand rests now, ever so gently, over your wrist.

You glance down at his intrepid, rebellious hand, almost certain he can feel your pulse thrumming. “Unless,” you rasp, and swallow hard so your voice doesn’t come out quite so desperate. “Unless that was part of the old blueprint.” You feel his hand tighten, just by a fraction. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation, at the almost impalpable gesture. You wonder if that’s a cue, Finn’s subtle way of encouraging you. You wonder if you’re getting warmer, if you’re on the right track, if you should stop talking or continue to think out loud. “The one Master Skywalker decided to throw out.”

Finn begins to clench his hand into a loose fist. His fingernails drag, feather-light, against your arm. 

You catch a ragged breath in your throat before it turns into a gasp, but he absolutely hears it. There’s no way he doesn’t, with his face so close to yours. You want him closer, _so much closer_ , but you don’t know how to ask. More than that, you don’t think that you should. 

But before you even can, a voice - a _familiar_ voice - cries out from inside the banquet hall.

“Everybody out! Everyone - stop what you’re doing. We have to move!”

Finn goes rigid, turns toward the party, blocks you with his body. Leia is standing in the center of the room, pushing anyone within reach towards the door. “Didn’t you hear me? Run! Everyone get up and run!”

“Go.” He whirls you out from behind him, pushes you ahead of him. “Find Bhejit.” 

Your mind floods with panic but you still stall, glancing back at Finn. You fight the fear that’s trying to seize your muscles, but the look on his face doesn’t help.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he barks, following you back inside. “Go. _Go_.”

He peels off to assist Leia as she corrals the crowd towards the door. You catch a glimpse of a note, clasped in her hand. It’s hard to see from where you are, but you could almost swear you read the word _RUN_ scrawled out on the sheet. 

Your breath stalls in your throat. You try to turn around, to reach Leia, to reach Finn, but you collide _hard_ with another body that lifts you and carries you with the crowd, out of the room. “No - _Leia_ -”

It’s not long before you’re swept back out into the cool evening air with the rest of the guests. The crowd surges, and the Senate building gets farther away with each second that passes. “Leia,” you sob, fighting against a stubborn grip. “ _Stop_ \- I have to get to Leia-”

“I’ll go back for her.” You’re surprised that you recognize the voice. You’re frozen in shock as Ransolm Casterfo sets you down gingerly and turns on his heel, running headlong back to the building. 

Then. The banquet hall bursts into flames. You almost don’t hear the sound of the bomb detonation over the screams of the delegates around you.

Casterfo halts abruptly, watching the smoke rise to the top of the Senate building. You watch as he forces himself to move, legs stiff with shock as he walks - and eventually runs - toward the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ransolm casterfo and carise sindian are both characters from star wars: bloodline. i borrowed them, as well as the napkin bombing, for this chapter :)
> 
> as always thank you guys so much for your kind words! i can't stress enough how nice it is to get some sweet sweet validation for my first star wars fic. i think i've surpassed 10k words which is WOW and i'm sooo grateful you all are along for this ride, bc the plot is THICKENING~


	8. Chapter 8

It is absolutely worse the second time.

You stand on trembling legs and stare into the charred hole that yet another bomb has carved into the Senate building. Stare at Ransolm as he haggles with the enforcers who have blocked the entrance with their cruisers. The red and blue flash of their siren lights threatens to blind you but you stare regardless.

Bhejit finds you eventually, her hand wrapping gently around your arm. You’re reminded immediately of Finn, the last person to touch you there, and you find it difficult to hold yourself up. Bhejit has to throw your arm across her shoulders to support you.

“Where are they?” you mutter numbly. “They have to be alright. Did you see them come out?”

Bhejit is pale as a kyber crystal. The muscles in her jaw clench as she fishes for an appropriate way to comfort you.

Threepio finds the two of you at the edge of the crowd. He’s fraught enough for the both of you, and he suggests you follow him back to Leia’s private apartment. “I doubt we will be able to reenter the Senate apartments for… quite some time.” Later, you think, that might be the best idea he’s ever had.

You can’t change out of your dress fast enough. It reeks of _that_ smell, a stench you can’t even really put your finger on. But it reminds you of the first bomb, the one you had honestly hoped would be your last. 

Bhejit helps you into one of Leia’s nightgowns. That, at least, smells like the inside of her closet, and you wonder if it’s from her days in the Rebellion. You hope she won’t mind that you’ve borrowed it. Actually - it won’t matter if she minds. As long as she is alive, she can react however she likes.

You burrow under the covers of the bed in the guest room. You beg Bhejit to lay down with you, at least for a little while. Hours pass and you don’t sleep. Your stomach feels like it’s turning inside-out, viciously, over and over. You can see the pillar of smoke from the window every time you open your eyes, and your heart drops like clockwork. “Where could they be?” you wonder aloud. 

Bhejit pushes your hair off your neck. Squeezes your shoulder. When she thinks you’ve finally drifted off you can hear her listening to news coverage, volume on her receiver turned as low as it will go. 

Dawn is threatening to break when you hear it. The sound of the front door. Your entire body tenses and Bhejit has to press you back down toward your pillow. She hurries out of the room to investigate.

You stare blankly at the door, waiting, listening. All you hear is whispers. Shuffling feet.

Bhejit reappears in the doorway and you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You brace yourself for disappointment, for the worst news.

But then - oh, but _then_. There is Finn. _Finn_. Face smudged with soot, wearing one of Han’s old shirts. You scramble out of bed, grateful that your legs are still finding a way to work, finding a way to carry you towards him, to launch yourself into his arms.

He is weak too but he catches you, sagging against the door, breathing raggedly into your hair. 

“For kriff’s _sake_ ,” you sob, clenching handfuls of his shirt. “Fuck - _Finn_.” You press a grateful kiss to his temple before you even realize what you’re doing. You repeat on his cheek, at the corner of his mouth - but you stop yourself before… 

Before you reach his lips. And it takes everything in you to do so, but you have to think about-

“Leia. Where is she?”

“She’s alright,” he murmurs. _Stars_ , do you want to kiss him. “Casterfo… the bastard. He helped me get her out of the debris.” Tears of relief flood down your cheeks, and you’re so tired, you can’t believe you have any tears left at all. “But she hit her head pretty hard. They had to admit her to the med bay overnight. Ransolm’s with her now.”

Your face is so close to his. You can feel his heart beating against your own chest and you bite back another sob. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, and hugs you tighter, burying his face back into your neck. What a relief, you think, to not have to fight against that temptation to press your lips to his. 

“I was so afraid,” you say back breathlessly. Your humiliating sobs are just taking the wind out of you. It takes so much energy to cry, to expel the terror and the sadness and the apprehension that’s been gripping you since you let go of Finn’s hand. “I was so worried about you-”

“I’m okay. I promise. I'm sorry.” You feel his hands run up and down your back, over your shoulder blades and spine, almost coaxing the tears out of you. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” you said immediately. “Casterfo… the bastard.”

Then Finn pulls away. “He got you out, didn’t he?”

“Dragged me kicking and screaming.” Finn barks out a hoarse laugh. He supports you gingerly, hands cupping your elbows. “And… _you’re_ not hurt?”

He blinks down at you and you realize he hadn’t even thought to check in with himself. “Uh-”

“ _Finn_.” You start to panic again, palming at his side, checking for wounds. “Did they check you out at the med bay…?”

“...Briefly,” he replies, and that doesn’t exactly reassure you. 

Your arms fall dumbly to your sides. “Okay.” You turn and shuffle back towards your bed. 

Finn sounds like he’s trying not to laugh as he murmurs “ _wait_ ” and reaches for you. “If something was wrong, they would have kept me overnight, too.” He shrugs. “Or tried, anyway.”

“Shouldn’t you have stayed? If not just to watch Leia?”

Finn sighs. A difficult question. “Somebody has to send for Han. Or at least tell him the news before he sees it on the holonet.” 

He’s right. You hadn’t even thought about Han. “Right,” you say shamefully. 

You realize that Finn’s hand is trailing up your arm, to your shoulder. You feel your skin prick with nervous bumps in the wake of his touch.

“Plus,” he breathes. He sounds so self-conscious. “I… y’know, I had to make sure…”

He trails off, but you think you know what he was going to say. At least, you _hope_ you know. You nod awkwardly, so he knows he’s not obligated to finish his thought. You _are_ okay, if that’s what he needed to make sure of. 

A tense moment passes between you, chock _full_ of things you want to say. Your eyes are getting heavy. You’re more frustrated than you’re willing to admit, but you try to think about what Finn has gone through in the past few hours alone. He’s probably in shock. He needs to rest, and you finally feel ready to do the same, now that you know everyone is more or less safe.

You want to ask Finn to come to bed, to lay with you, to hold you until you either fall asleep or the sun makes it impossible to do so. But it’s harder to ask him now. It’s not like before. Now there is too much between you. So much you want to act on… so much you feel like you can’t. Not with Leia alone - _with Ransolm_ , you suppose, which isn't a comfort - and suffering from potential head trauma. Not with the Senate building - the place you call _home_ , for kriff’s sake - up in flames just a few streets away. Not with you feeling so helpless, and Finn no closer to discovering who might be behind the attacks. All the trouble Leia had gone to had been for nothing.

“I’m gonna try to rest,” you offer, and hope Finn will take the bait. You envy Ransolm’s charm in this moment. Coercion has never been your strong suit. You’re more inclined to raise your voice and - well… _pout_ , for lack of a better word, to get your way. You know neither of your gifts will work on Finn, so you just hold your breath and wait. To see what he will do.

Finn nods. He looks guilty and exhausted. “I… have to call Han.”

You _fight_ the overwhelming urge to pout. You’re an adult, dammit. You can handle rejection. Especially with Finn’s world seeming to crumble around him. He has so much on his plate. The least you can do is take care of yourself. At least for one night.

So you nod and square your shoulders. “Okay.” You sound only slightly disappointed. “Goodnight, Finn.”

Finn’s hand squeezes around your arm, keeping you planted right where you stand. He opens his mouth; no words come out. Not at first. He seems to be thinking, arranging something carefully in his head. You’ve never seen him take so long to say what’s on his mind.

“Uh…” he blinks hard, as if coming out of a stupor. His grip on you loosens. “Goodnight.”

He has the mercy to turn and hurry out of the room. You’re left alone, and for the first time in weeks you’re not scared. You just feel empty. And so, _so_ tired. You’re thankful for the exhaustion. This way, at least, you’re not thinking about Finn. You’re not thinking about anyone. As soon as your head hits the pillow, all you see is black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes... the angst
> 
> i feel like i have been so IA when really i am only a bit late with an update! still,,, i feel bad,,, as i'm trying to keep them weekly and consistent so today we've got a DOUBLE UPDATE YAAAAAY


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> veryyy excited about this chapter! it was one of my favorites to write, but challenging in a way you might only understand once you reach the end. 
> 
> i'm trying to keep the tags relevant and updated as well! please let me know if there is any potentially-triggering content that i should include :)

You’re laying flat on your back, eyes closed, when you start to smell _it_. The stench of the bombs, the one that sticks to your clothes and your hair and burns your eyes. Now, you feel like you are choking on it. You thrash, try to get away from it, and you come face to face with a slab of rubble. 

You try not to panic but your throat is closing up. You hear the sound of fire crackling close by, and the stone you’re trapped beneath is hot to the touch. “Help!” you cry. “Hello?”

When you glance to your right, you see someone else pinned under another rock. 

You squint through the smoke. It’s _Leia_. It has to be. She lies still, hands clasped over her chest. Her hair splays like a pillow underneath her. She may as well be holding flowers on a funeral pyre. 

“Leia?” You try to reach her. But there is no room to move. None at all. Not with this massive, molten rock trying to crush you. You hear the wheeze in your own breath. You have to get out, you have to get to _her_ , but the rubble sears your hands when you try to touch it. You start to kick, to throw your elbow against the rock, hoping it will crack but knowing at the back of your mind that it won’t. You’re not strong enough. But Leia’s not moving. You’re both going to die if you don’t get her out. You’re both going to die if you don’t keep kicking, and kicking, and _kicking_ -

“Ouch - _hey_.”

You open your eyes and the fire is gone. Another dream. Another _bad_ dream.

“Leia?” You cast around frantically for her. But you’re not trapped under a rock, and neither is she. In fact, she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s just you. 

And _Finn_ , who you’ve apparently just kicked in the face.

“No, but I’m sorry to disappoint,” Finn mutters, rubbing his jaw.

You scramble to sit up. “I’m sorry - I’m so sorry.” You swat his hand out of the way to assess the damage.

“Ow!”

“ _That_ didn’t hurt, I barely touched you.” You hold his face delicately. The sun is starting to rise, and you tilt his chin back, into the light, to get a better look.

“And how would you know?” Finn almost whines. You feel the vibration of his voice, deep despite his petulance, resonate through his jaw and tickle the tips of your fingers. “I’m sensitive.”

It may be a bad time for you to note how beautiful he looks with the warm, gold sunlight on his face. But you do it anyway. His eyes are shimmering like the sunshine on a lake as he stares calmly up at you. You keep all this to yourself, despite the fact that a compliment or two may help to soothe his ego.

You run your finger over his jawline. He flinches just a little, but there’s no swelling. “Well… that’s news to me.”

“You don’t know everything, y’know.” That remark reminds you of one of the last arguments you two had. He most likely doesn’t mean it that way, but the memory still stings just a bit. 

“Maybe not.” You flick his ear. “But now _you_ know what happens when you sneak up on me.”

You lower yourself back onto the bed and Finn watches you intently. All past pretense of averting his gaze is long gone. “I was _checking_ on you, actually.”

It’s difficult to find a place to rest your hands when he’s looking at you like that. You try to focus on something harmless, something benign about his face that won’t make your heartbeat skip. So you study the subtle laugh line that traces the right side of his mouth. It’s the only thing really, besides a rather prominent crease in his forehead and his deep voice, that betrays his age. 

Unfortunately you can’t continue to stare at his mouth and say nothing. Your fingers pick at a loose thread in the sheet as you force a smile. “I’m fine.” Maybe the more you say it, the more you’ll believe it. 

Finn grabs at the leg that has just kicked him. “I’d hate to see the opposite of ‘fine.’”

Another relic from one of your first conversations. 

“That wasn’t funny the first time,” you mutter, bucking against the weight of his arm. “It’s certainly not funny now.”

The crease in his forehead becomes much more pronounced as he raises his eyebrows and scoffs at your threat. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

“No,” you say with a dramatic toss of your head. “Only when you bring me caf.”

“Oh, what a _brat_ you are.” He starts to get up, but not before making a big show of rolling his eyes. You feel a dull ache in your cheeks, and you realize it’s because you’ve been smiling this whole time. 

*

You don’t know what it is about Finn, but you’re sure he’s magic. 

He swears he hasn’t changed the recipe, that he makes your caf the exact way Bhejit told him you like it, but there’s something different - something _better_ about it, whenever it’s him in the kitchen preparing it. 

You’re bouncing a little in your chair as you stare at his back. You can smell the dry beans, hear them clink into the tinny grinder you got Leia as a gift one year. You can’t believe she still has it. But it’s an impressive machine; your father used to have one. Said the caf didn’t taste as good if you didn’t grind the beans yourself. 

Apparently Finn thinks so too. You’re too curious about his process, too excited at the prospect of your bitter-delicious first course, to even think about the drukload of a day you’re about to have. You have worried about Leia enough, a whole night’s worth of worrying.

(Plus. You had tried to catch up on some of the news earlier, before Finn stole your holopuck from your hands. “ _You can take a break for a few minutes_ ,” he had said, dangling it in front of you to get you out of bed. " _Besides, I just heard from Casterfo. She’s stable and they’re talking about discharging her soon_.”)

You find it difficult to trust Ransolm Casterfo in any way. But you have to admit he seems to respect Leia, and she’s never had misplaced judgement about anyone - not that you know of anyway. If she trusts him, and you trust Leia, then…

“You wanna talk about it?”

You lift your chin up from your palm and grunt a “huh?” at Finn’s back. He ventures a little glance over his shoulder. 

“Your nightmare. You had another one, right?”

Your lips press into a hard, defiant line. You don’t want to even think about it, at the sight of Leia, lying on the marble floors of the banquet hall like it was her funeral pyre. At the sight of her looking so still, yet so _calm_. You wonder if she has ever looked so at peace in life as she did in your dream. 

_That’s_ a horrible thought. Maybe the worst one you’ve had. So no, you don’t wanna talk about it. 

To your relief, Finn does not force you. He seems too caught up in his process anyway. He likes to be useful, you think, to be good at something physical, something meditative, where he can turn off his brain and let his body work from memory. So you let him. You watch the muscles of his back press against his shirt as he grinds the beans down into their penultimate form. You watch him open the spice cupboard and grab… something… something you’ve never seen before, something _you_ certainly have never put in your caf, and make the move to add it to the mixture. 

“Excuse me!” you squawk, jumping down from your seat at the counter and stomping over. “What are you doing?” Finn freezes in his tracks — only his eyes, wide and guilty, are turned towards you. 

Your jaw drops. He isn’t. He _can’t_ be. 

“You’re changing the recipe.”

“I’m not!” he cries back. “Not... _yours_ , anyway. This is _my_ recipe.”

“I don’t want _your_ recipe,” you spit back.

Finn smiles, wide and mischievous like a damn lothcat, and starts to open the jar of whatever offending mystery spice he’s got in his hands. “Yes you do. You love my recipe.” 

“How would I even _know_ what your-” You step back in surprise. “...No.” He starts to chuckle, taking the smallest spoon you’ve ever seen and scraping it along the bottom of the jar. You watch, helpless, as Finn dumps _whatever the hell it is_ into the moka press with the caf. “How _dare_ you.” His cackle stirs indignance in your stomach. “I knew something was different!”

He takes another measure of it and sprinkles it into the press with a mocking flourish. “Better, you mean.”

“My caf is _perfect_!” you cry, beating at Finn’s arms, his chest, whatever you can reach. He giggles as if your blows tickle. _Insulting_. “I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking me a totally different kind of caf-”

“And you have been loving it,” Finn replies drolly, pushing you away with one hand - you’re surprised at how easy it is; you were at least _trying_ to put up a fight. “That’s why you’re so upset. I have been making better caf than that bitter sludge you’ve been drinking your whole life and you’re mad because you like it.”

“That _bitter sludge_ is the reason I can get up and walk around like a fully functioning human being, by the way.” 

Finn sets the press on the fire. “It’s just saka*,” he says back, and grabs the jar. “I promise no one has noticed a decline in your functionality.”

He turns to face you and you nearly fall into his chest. “Come here.” He puts a little on his finger, holds it level with your lips. It’s crystallized, and reddish pink. It looks coarse like sand when you focus on it long enough.

Suddenly you’re very aware of the implication, of what it might mean if you choose to lick this seasoning off Finn’s finger. 

So you stick your own hand in the jar and fish around for your own sample.

“ _Don’t…_ contaminate my stash.”

“My hands are clean,” you murmur, and lap at your finger experimentally. It’s just a kiss sweet and — you guess — aromatic. You’ve certainly never tasted anything like it before. But it’s not bad. You just can’t admit that to Finn, who is watching you expectantly, sucking the saka off his own finger. 

“There’s cassia in it, too.” Another spice you’ve never heard of. He wipes his hand on his pants and shuts the jar. He continues to stare, to watch you, to wait, and you stare back, swirling the taste of the saka and the cassia on your tongue. “Well?”

You blink at him stupidly. “Well, what?”

Finn waits a moment, to give you another chance to play along. You keep your face blank and your mouth shut. “You wanna admit that my way is better?”

“Why would I do that?”

Finn, hands on his hips, starts to shake his head. “You’re impossible.”

You gape at him as he turns back around. “What did I do?”

“You can’t just suck it up and-”

“Blindly agree with you? I think not.”

Finn tosses his weird seasoning back into the cupboard from whence it came. He slides the panel shut with a petty little _slam_ and, with his back still turned, mutters, “I could always _make_ you, y’know.”

“ _What_?”

He glances at you, eyebrows raised, and you know immediately what he means. He means using _the force_ to make you.

You have to ignore the way that idea sends a little chill through you. The idea of Finn… using the force like that. On _you_. How many times has that thought crossed his mind? And how many other ways might he have pictured-- 

_No_ , don’t think about that. _Anything_ but that. You pretend to be angry, pretend there isn’t a surge of warmth pooling in the pit of your gut. You swallow hard, push your shoulders back. “That wouldn’t be very nice,” you say, “free will not withstanding.”

“It has nothing to do with free will,” Finn replies. Casually. _Too_ casually. 

“How does your little Jedi mind manipulation _not_ affect my free will?” you demand, arms folding protectively over your chest. “Please, I really wanna know.”

He turns back around to face you, one elbow resting on the counter. You hate how absolutely smug he looks, how he has the balls to even tease you like that.

“It’s not… blind coercion.” He tilts his head at you, and you wonder if he’s assessing you, measuring your will against his own. “It’s not about force. It’s gentler than that. It’s more like… like persuasion. A shortcut to resolving arguments.”

“Yeah. In _your_ favor.”

He rolls his eyes, slowly and dramatically, and reaches for you. “Okay. Come here.” It’s the second time he’s said those two words to you, ever, and you can’t help but feel yourself tense up hearing it again. “I’ll show you." His fingers find yours and you jump at the sudden reminder of the night before. Right before the banquet, in the lift, when you reached for _him_. The first time the two of you had really touched, or the first time it meant something. 

Fortunately this memory only seems to hit _you_ like a freight cruiser. Finn is too busy trying to prove his point. "Say we’re close to a compromise.”

“We _weren’t_ ,” you argue, pushing back against his hand. 

“But _say_ we were.” He holds him palm level with your hand. You can see the tips of his fingers over the tips of yours. “Say we were _this close_ to reaching an agreement. It’s impossible, not to mention wrong, for me to reach in and just change your mind like _that_.” He snaps his fingers with his other hand. “The trick is to just…”

He presses his palm forward, his skin just barely touching yours. You envision a gentle kiss in your mind, your lips meeting Finn’s with delicacy. “Pave a shortcut. To the resolution.”

You purse your lips with skepticism. “And do you often require a shortcut to your resolutions?”

“Well,” Finn says back, and you shudder again at the almost gentle tone in his voice. “Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn…”

“You better watch your mouth,” you reply tersely. It takes a considerable effort to keep your face straight as you push past him, to grab two mugs. “I’ll kick you again.”

At that he throws his head back and lets out one loud, short laugh. “No, please. I don’t think I can take another blow like that.”

He runs a hand over his chin like it still hurts. You watch his fingers prod at a would-be bruise, and you take his chin in your hands to observe it. “Please, I barely left a mark. You’ll live, Solo.”

“Now where have I heard _that_ before?”

Finn, in the midst of reaching for your wrist, clamps down hard on your hand and turns to peer into the doorway. Neither of you had heard anyone come in, not the sound of the front door, and not the heavy footfalls of boots on the tile, either. 

But as the intruder rounds the corner you both breathe a little sigh of relief at the sight of _Han_ , followed closely by Chewbacca, whose padded feet were, naturally, silent behind his longtime friend. 

Han puts on that same crooked smile you have known all your life - from up close encounters, but even before that, from watching him on countless holovids, always by Leia’s side. He melts against the doorframe, hands on his belt exactly where Finn always rests his, and jerks his head in Finn’s direction. “This guy botherin’ you?”

Of course, he _had_ to make an entrance. Chewie seems to say as much as he releases a long-suffering groan and shoulders past Han. When he bends down to hug you he smells like the inside of the _Falcon_ \- which you have only been invited to see but one time, but whose scent you don’t think you will ever forget. 

“Why do neither of you trust me?” Finn demands, much to Han’s amusement. The other part of that “ _you_ ” must be Leia. 

Han sidles up to Finn, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Finn doesn’t seem to appreciate the gesture, but that just makes Han smile all the more. “‘Course I trust you, kid. Enough to leave you in charge of my favorite senator.”

The kettle starts to hiss. You handle taking it off the fire, since Finn is occupied. “He’s not in charge, he just thinks he is.”

 _That_ makes Han absolutely howl. Finn flinches when he slaps him again - harder - on his shoulder, in the same spot. He glares at you - _Enjoying yourself?_ he seems to say.

You smile when you hear Chewie chortling to himself as well. “I forgot what a spitfire you were, sweetheart.” Han reaches over Finn to grab the mug you had designated for him. “You got enough caf for me? It’s been a long trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, trying to write han: don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry
> 
> FLUFF!!!! AND FLIRTATION!!!! WE LOVE TO SEE IT
> 
> *finn puts cinnamon sugar in his coffee :) bc he's baby :)


	10. Chapter 10

“You can’t just send me away!”

While your morning had started off a little bumpy, it had evolved into a _complete_ cluster. Just as you predicted. 

The authorities are calling the Napkin Bombing the most serious incident since the Civil War. Which, you think, is a little fucking insulting, seeing as you almost got blown up yourself two weeks ago. 

Within hours, populists and centrists alike were taking to their platforms, issuing statements that laid the blame on either rival. The Senate has been effectively crippled, the bickering that was once but a nuisance has escalated into an almost war between the two parties.

But of all the things brought forward during your meeting with Han, Chewie, Leia, Finn, and Threepio - with Senator Casterfo pretending not to listen in the corner of Leia’s suite in the med bay - _your_ outburst is apparently the most controversial. 

Which you didn’t think was possible, considering a possible bomber had been identified _and_ photographed by the security cameras at the Senate building.

A holopuck of the suspect rests on Leia’s cot. The suspect is Twi’lek, female, with green skin and huge, dark eyes. You note to yourself that she looks almost kind, but it’s hard to tell with such a blurry photo. Either way, it’s nice to finally have a lead. And you only had to endure one of the worst nights of your life for it.

The crumpled note that Leia had found during the party is safe at the Justice Building. They’re running it against any identification software they have in their database. But you’d read it right last night and Leia confirms: the note had only one message - _run_.

And despite all that - despite having, for the first time, a solid, concrete lead in the investigation - everyone is staring at _you_ like a crop of zabrak horns have just sprouted off the crown of your head.

Leia sits wearily at the edge of her bed. Bhejit is helping her into a coat brought from her apartment. She is the only one not _really_ looking at you, and it’s probably because she is taking the brunt of your fury.

“I’m not _sending_ you away,” she chides, sliding her arm into the last sleeve. “We’ve drawn out the perpetrator, now my next priority is to keep you _safe_. At least until we’ve caught them.”

“What about you?” you ask, without thinking, caught up in the memory of Leia’s face in your nightmare - her sweet, serene face, void of all tension, of all worry. _Lifeless_ , but at peace. You have another terrible thought. And instead of ignoring it, you immediately spring to articulate it: “What if none of this is really about me? What if they’re really after you?”

Your remark tanks the mood in the room once again. You feel Finn behind you, shifting his weight uncomfortably. 

Han stands close to Leia. You’re sure he’s used to the idea of his partner in danger. But your comment has him worrying at the inside of his cheek. Even Threepio has nothing to say. 

Chewie, who rests in a chair on the other side of the room, ventures an apprehensive moan. He says something more, a string of staccato barks, and Han squirms at whatever it is he’s saying. 

“We don’t _know_ that,” Han grits out, leveling a warning finger in Chewie’s direction. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, straightens his shoulders. “Besides, who woulda left that note if they were gunning for Leia?” Her name sounds just as strange coming from Han’s mouth as it did when Casterfo said it last night. You’re used to hearing ‘ _sweetheart_ ’ and ‘ _princess_ ’ so much so that you’ve begun to associate those nicknames with Leia and her alone. “I hate to break it to ya, but she’s not _that_ lucky.”

“No, I think you might be onto something.” 

It takes you a moment to realize that Casterfo is addressing _you_. He’s been silent for so long, chin in his hand as he paces in the corner. You’re surprised that he’s chosen to side with you at all, especially after your first/last conversation.

He steps into the circle, despite a wary grumble from Chewbacca, and turns now to Leia. “You weren’t present at the Senate hearing where the first bomb went off, Senator Organa.”

You nod, putting the pieces together almost as quickly as Ransolm. “I went in your place. I spoke as your proxy.”

“Exactly.” Ransolm glances at you, an impressed smile ghosting his lips. It’s gone just as quickly as it appeared as he presents his next point. “What if that first attack was meant for _you_? What if this has been about drawing _you_ out? Not the other way around?”

Leia goes pale as she sits with this revelation, her back to Ransolm. 

Knowing that you may have been targeted for joining Leia’s fight against the Centrists… that had been hard enough for Leia to deal with. Every time she looked at you after the first bombing, it was as if she was apologizing. But now you’re all faced with a potential new reality: that you weren’t the main target at all. You were just bait, to get to Leia. You feel for the first time that your roles have been reversed. Now it’s you, worrying endlessly about your mentor, her safety, and Leia possibly fearing for her _own_ life.

Leia takes a deep, measured breath through the nose. When she looks at you finally, it is with complete resolution. “I still would feel better knowing that you’re safe, as long as this investigation is open.” She speaks to you in that same cold tone that she uses to debate in the Senate, and you don’t think anything has ever hurt so much. You’ve never heard her address you like that. Like you’re one of the centrists on the other side of the room instead of right by her side. 

“Leia,” you plead. “Come _on_. This is the only thing that makes sense-”

“It’s just a theory,” she says calmly.

“No, it _isn’t!_ You have been in the Senate for thirty years. I’m just your junior. I mean nothing to the bigger picture.” You’re aware of the desperation in your own voice, how much like a child you sound, and you decide to be embarrassed later on when you’re alone. Now you are bent on convincing Leia to see reason, to let you protect her. “I’m nothing. You’re everything. Everything we’ve worked so hard to build.”

Leia sighs, weary, _so weary_ , and you feel a twinge of guilt. You glance at Ransolm, who is regarding you sadly, almost with pity.

“Leia…” You shut your eyes tight. You can’t bear to look at anyone right now. And you can’t bear to let your frustration turn into tears, as it so often does. But you’ve got no other cards to play. All you can do is beg. “ _Please_.” 

Your stomach twists more with each second passed without an answer. You open your eyes to see Leia making an effort to stand, with the help of Bhejit. She squares her shoulders, and looks at you with utmost calm… and utmost distance. “My decision is final.”

*

The Justice Building is cold and sterile like a prison. You suppose it’s meant to be - a preventative measure designed to scare anyone straight. Show them a taste of what awaits them if they step a toe out of line in this new, improved Republic.

You’re not afraid of the sonorous grey tile or the dreadful, white-hot fluorescent lighting. You’re only here to provide your testimony about the bombing the night before, and that’s always easy. It is over and done with before you can even make yourself comfortable. 

Besides, you don’t think anything could be as bad as losing an argument with Leia Organa. You had stormed out of her suite so fast, tears of humiliation and anger spilling down your cheeks, turned off your communicator and headed straight for your appointment at the Justice Building. You were grateful that the police droid didn’t seem to notice how you had been crying, or just hadn’t been programmed to care about such things. It stuck to the allotted questions and you were finished in record time. 

Unfortunately you can’t avoid your protector, _or_ your attendant. Finn and Bhejit are standing in the garage with your driver, waiting for you. To them, it is obvious you’ve been crying. 

“Don’t be too upset with her,” is the first thing Finn says. He doesn’t reach for you at all, probably for fear that you’ll run off again. “She’s just doing what she thinks is best, and I don’t need to tell you how she can get when she’s made up her mind about something.”

You want to be angry. You want to _stay_ angry, to seethe in the pit of betrayal and mortification and hurt that you have let meticulously brew in the hollow of your stomach. But now that Finn is here, right in front of you, trying his best to give comfort... all you want to do is be held by him. To let it go and just let him wrap you in his huge, strong arms and whisk you away to whatever planet you’re being banished to. As long as you’re not alone you think you might just be alright. But-

“I just don’t see why everyone gets to go to Ryloth and I don’t,” you whine. 

All that’s missing is a pout and a stomp of your foot. 

Finn tries to push down his amusement, searching for an appropriate response. 

Bhejit beats him to it. “Well, _I_ don’t get to go to Ryloth,” she mutters. “I have to go wherever _you_ go. Which is a shame - I’ve been dying to go to one of their healing baths.”

“It’s not a vacation!” you cry back, fighting the urge to laugh yourself. “Ryloth is the only real lead we have to identify the bomber.”

As soon as she sees you smile Bhejit seems satisfied. “Come on. We’ve gotta pack.” She turns on her heel and starts to walk towards the speeder, your driver in tow. That leaves you and Finn alone for just a moment.

You venture a glance up at him. “Are _you_ going to Ryloth?”

Finn winces at the question. “Leia thinks my skills might be of good use.” It’s just a fact, with no malice behind it, but it still stings. You hate the mere idea of being sent off somewhere, but with the added measure of Finn not being with you…

You realize Finn might be in the midst of his own argument with Leia. Then again, you might just be projecting. 

But why would he be looking at you like the way he is right now, with such a complicated mix of emotions flickering across his face? 

“So you’re going with her to Ryloth.”

Finn finally grabs you by the shoulders. You instantly feel grounded, feel _better_ , if only just by a fraction. “I am… at the very _least…_ ” he says, tilting his chin down in that way he does to let you know he _means_ what he’s saying, “escorting you to your safe house. I’m the only one who really knows the planet besides Han and he’s _definitely_ going with Leia to Ryloth.”

You take this small victory while you can, but the surge of reassurance doesn’t last long before you’re already plagued with another slew of questions. “And… _which_ planet is that, exactly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [anakin voice] this is where the fun ENDS
> 
> JUST KIDDING we are obviously going on vacation!!! where do u think we're going 🧐


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all y'all's guesses made me want to change the locale to naboo but alas......

“What’s it called again?”

“Bespin,” Finn drones, and you pout at the fact that he seems annoyed at having to repeat himself. It’s only the third or fourth time you’ve had to ask, and it’s not your fault you had never heard of Bespin before. 

(“Never _heard of Bespin?_ ” Finn had cried the first time you mentioned that. “ _Cloud City. Darth Vader lured Han and Leia into a trap, to catch Master Skywalker?_ None _of that ringing any bells?_ ”

You felt stupid as all hell when it started to click. But you hadn’t heard that story since you were a kid; it was so wrapped up in legend. And the galaxy was a massive place. You couldn’t be expected to remember the name of _every_ planet. Not like the adopted son of a certain pair of Galactic Civil War veterans.) 

Finn catches you pouting at him and raises his eyebrows. “What?” he demands.

“Nothing,” you mutter, voice high with indignation. “I’ll try to remember so I won’t be such a _bother_ to you next time.”

Finn’s brow immediately shoots down from whence it came, threatening to eclipse his eyes. He hates when you fish. But you had been particularly bratty these past few days, having to pack up and leave Hosnian Prime a mere week before the First Senator bill was scheduled to come back before the Senate. Leia has already left for Ryloth with Han and Ransolm - of all people. Which leaves Finn free to stay with you, at least for a few days. Small victories.

“You’re not a bother,” he says robotically, and you try not to perk up too immediately at his praise, however forced. He’s much too smart to miss your attempts at manipulation, but, then again, perhaps too kind to deny you of an affirmation here and there.

You turn back towards him, now that you’ve been thoroughly coddled. “So… Han knows his way around.” You’ve heard all about his friend Lando Calrissian, the gambler turned smuggler turned rebel turned “serious businessman,” who held significant property on Cloud City after a short stint as its administrator. He had returned to Bespin after retiring from the Rebellion, Han had mentioned. Settled down, started a family. “How do _you_ know Bespin?”

“Lando and Han go way back,” he says breezily. “I spent a lot of summers on Cloud City.”

Chewie, sitting across from the two of you at the holochess table, mutters something under his breath, before chuckling mischievously. 

Finn balks at him. “You ever gonna go?” he asks, too fast and too loud. 

The Wookiee has been pondering his next move for ages. You had been using that precious time, as the _Falcon_ drifts purposefully through hyperspace, to question Finn about your destination. You didn’t realize he’d gotten quite so restless.

Chewie groans back at Finn; it almost sounds like a taunt. With your limited knowledge of Shyriiwook, and without Threepio with you to translate, you can only make out a few words: ‘distracted,’ ‘cheat,’ and… ‘beautiful’? 

You keep your face neutral as Finn bristles beside you. “The only one cheating is _you_ , old man.”

After a curt roar Chewie is laughing again. Finn glances at you self-consciously, as if you know what he’s saying besides a few choice words. 

“Can you not?” Finn pleads. “How can I be cheating? I haven’t beat you in like, 7 years, and I’m pretty sure it’s because you let me win.”

Chewbacca nods, huffs, and articulates a phrase you know immediately because Han taught it to you: “ _Damn straight_.”

You try not to let a laugh escape but you end up choking on it instead. 

Finn jerks a thumb in your direction. “You see what you’re doing?” Chewie throws you a withering look. “ _Dissention_. Just play, Chewie. I’m begging.”

But before Chewie can indulge him, the sound of beeping - coming from the cockpit - stops him. He grumbles and starts to get up.

“I’m _not_ gonna shut off the game,” Finn groans.

Another groan from Chewie.

“Or you’ll rip my arms off, I know.”

Satisfied, Chewie heads down towards the hull. You watch him go, marveling at the exchange you just witnessed. “Wow,” you manage to get out, and Finn just laughs.

“He’s just goofing off,” he replies, staring at the pieces as they stand idly on the board. His nose wrinkles with a twinge of doubt. “I think.”

The _Falcon_ shudders and you grip the table in surprise. You must be exiting hyperspace. “That was fast.”

(Actually, it had been a few hours. But time spent with Finn - especially now that you were fighting much less, if at all - tends to go by much too fast for your liking.)

Finn leans over until your shoulders are touching. “I know this is probably the last place you wanna be right now…” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you cut into his speech. “At least I’m not on a ship with Casterfo.”

Finn snorts, and you feel proud to have made him laugh a second time. “But I’m telling you, Leia couldn’t have picked a nicer place for you to hide.”

“So you _agree_ that she sent me away.” 

You don’t realize Finn’s hand is on your knee until he is giving it a warning squeeze.

“Don’t be like that.” His eyes search your face, flittering from your eyes, down to your mouth, and back. You watch as he purses his own lips. “You’re important to her. And she takes these things seriously. She’s just trying to make sure everything is in place. So she can do what _she_ needs to do.”

It sounds better when Finn describes it. It makes sense, and it certainly doesn’t seem like banishment. Nothing can, really, with Finn holding your knee still, rubbing his thumb along the bend of your leg. 

_Stars_ , the urge to kiss him is back. Or maybe it never left. Maybe you are just existing in an endless, perpetual loop of wanting to throw yourself forward and wrap your arms around his neck and just… _kiss_ _him_. But you can’t imagine acting on that impulse. You’re not nearly that brave. And the timing is never right and… what if Finn doesn’t want that? Want _you_ … like that? He came to do a job, after all. And he’s a _Jedi_ , for kriff’s sake. He never even confirmed whether that aversion to attachment still applied to him, to Luke Skywalker’s teachings. Then again, you _were_ interrupted by a bomb threat.

But if you’re not going to do it… and _he’s_ not going to do it… you wish he would stop _touching_ you the way he does. Looking at you with his huge, splendid eyes, speaking to you like he would do anything to protect you.

Maybe you just haven’t had someone want to take care of you like this before. Maybe you are a stranger to this form of kindness, to this intimacy. 

“Come on.” Finn grabs your hand and hauls you to your feet. He switches off the holochess board — you _gasp_ , and he shushes you — and starts to lead you toward the cockpit.

Light is spilling through the hall as he hurries down to the hull. It’s almost blinding when you step through the doorway to the cockpit, after sitting in the dim lights begging desperately for a replacement. 

Chewie sits in the pilot’s seat. Bhejit rests in the chair behind him. “I didn’t turn it off,” Finn drolls when Chewie barks at him. He doesn’t seem convinced, and he shouldn’t be, since Finn just lied to his face. But you don’t have the heart to bust him, and anyway, you’re much too distracted by the scene in front of you.

The _Falcon_ drifts through pink, tufty clouds - the sun is begging to dip to your left, washing the skyline with red and orange to compliment it. Every now and again, you catch glimpses of a white, orb-like fixture nestled between the clouds. 

But then - that’s when you really see it. The _Falcon_ breezes through a particularly thick cloud and you come into a clear patch of sky, and you know right away this is Cloud City. It’s absolutely massive, floating right above a carpet of white and pink. As you move toward it, it catches the light of the sun, reflecting it back into your eyes but even then you can’t look away.

Finn scoots past you, to slide into the co-pilot’s chair just as a voice crackles through the radio. He delivers their credentials smoothly, and the _Falcon_ is assigned a landing pad.

You are shaking your head in disbelief when Finn turns to check on you. 

“You were right,” you admit instantly. “You were right and I was so wrong. I don’t know why we didn’t come here earlier.”

Finn laughs, but one glance at Chewie - who is watching the both of you - makes him go quiet again.

Chewie lands the ship without much difficulty and Finn helps shut down the controls. He glances out the windscreen and lets out a happy little roar. You follow his gaze, out to the runway platform, where a whole entourage is walking towards the _Falcon_.

“Quite the welcome,” you murmur, as Chewie hurries out of the cockpit, stirring Bhejit out of her slumber. She comes to stand next to you, eyebrows raised in begrudging acknowledgment. 

“I’ll see if any of them can lend a hand with your luggage,” she mutters, and follows Chewie out. 

Finn stands, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smiling so wide for so long. You forget to move out of his way before he bumps up right against you. “Oof - I’m sorry,” you gasp out, and he chuckles, hands on your waist, his apology tumbling over yours.

“Well,” you breathe, after a pleasant little beat filled with nervous laughter. “It looks beautiful.”

“It’s amazing.” He’s grinning ear to ear still, craning to see out the window, giddy like a child. “Wait till you see the rest of it. It goes on forever. And there’s gardens and… oh, and the _casino_ \- then there’s the palace-”

“There’s a _palace_?” And Finn nods, practically bouncing on his heels. “Alright, well that’s settled. I live here now.”

Finn doesn’t move his hands right away, using them as leverage to guide you backward and make room for him to stand. And you don’t want his hands to move. But as you start to feel that same delicious heat pooling in your gut, you’re compelled to break this spell of tension.

“I appreciate you… being so patient with me.” Finn smirks. “I know I can be difficult.”

“Hey,” he whispers, his breath tickling your nose. “Stop it. You’re going through a lot.”

You look away from him, back to the little crowd of people encroaching upon your bubble. Chewie has lowered the ramp, and you know enough about the old ass _Falcon_ to know that it sticks sometimes. The effort makes the entire ship shudder, and Finn grips you tighter to keep you on your feet. You hope he can’t feel your pulse, hope he can’t see how intoxicated you are from his proximity.

You force yourself to pull away, sighing out the scent of Finn from your lungs, the smell of caf and that stupid sakka he loves so much, of the leather of his jacket, mingling with the metallic smell of the _Falcon_.

The sound of footsteps running up the ramp, of laughter and Chewie’s voice, comes ricocheting back into the cockpit. 

“Where’s my favorite nephew?” a voice booms through the ship, and Finn huffs out a nervous laugh.

“Ready to meet Lando?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooo i wanna do a double update so bad
> 
> if y'all ask me.... nicely.... i won't say no.........


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update here we goooooo! everybody say thank you ao3 user finnrey

You don’t think you have ever smiled - or _laughed_ \- so much as you have with Lando around. You thought Han and Chewie teased Finn. Lando? Lando is _merciless._

Lando tosses one of your bags to Finn - who catches it, but only by the grace of his Jedi reflexes - and throws an arm around you, leading you through the _Falcon_ like it’s the first time you’ve been on it. “I hope your trip was pleasant… I don’t know _what_ the hell Han’s done with this ship… she used to be _mine_ , y’know-” He flips between chiding the absent Han on the state of the _Falcon_ and assuring you of how safe you will be in his city.

“Let’s not forget this was once Empire Town, Lando.”

Lando glances over his shoulder at Finn. “That bag not heavy enough for you, friend?” He tsks. “I swear, boy’s got a mouth worse than Han and Leia _combined_.”

“You’re going to have to clue me in about Leia,” you reply. “She’s toned down quite a bit since the Rebellion, I’m guessing.”

You head down the ramp with Lando; he leans against his cane instead of you. You want to tell him that you don’t mind helping him down, but he’s already talking again. “Oh, it’s still there. Just buried under that good upbringing. She and Han are more similar than you think. Leia might’ve been a Princess, but…” he winks. “She’s got the heart of a scoundrel.”

A gentle breeze sweeps up the ramp from the skybridge and you take advantage of the crisp air swirling round your feet after sitting so long in the recycled _Falcon_ air. Your hair whips around your face as Lando offers you his hand. The light of the sunset is almost blinding. So much so the people around you look like angels.

One figure in particular, breaking off from the crowd to meet you and Lando, makes you stop in your tracks. She’s _gorgeous_ , with dark brown skin that glows pearlescent in the golden hour. Her hair whips around her shoulders too, caught in a curly, meticulous updo that keeps it all off her face. And she’s wearing a beautiful, pale pink suit with a neckline that skirts right over her shoulders and collarbone. A cape whips behind her, snapping in the wind and making her look all the more majestic. She looks about your age, just like Finn, but you feel instantly smaller at the sight of her.

“Senator, I’d like to introduce my daughter - Jannah.”

She’s gorgeous, she’s gorgeous, she’s… reaching for your hand. You blink yourself out of your trance and reach right back, to shake hers.

“Hi,” you say weakly, and her smile widens, revealing an endearing little gap in her teeth. 

“Welcome to Cloud City,” she says back, voice all melodic and sweet. Your heart falls into the abyss as you realize that this, _Jannah_ , must have been what Chewbacca was teasing Finn about on the way here.

“Jannah has taken over as administrator of the city,” Lando explains proudly, and almost immediately Jannah swats at his shoulder.

“Let’s let our guests at least get off the ship before you start gloating,” she chides.

Finn comes down the ramp now, struggling a little with your bag, and Jannah’s face lights right up. “Look who decided to show their face!” She hurls a playful punch at Finn’s gut and he barely has any time to brace himself. You hear Jannah laugh - a laugh just as melodic and sweet as her voice when she speaks - and watch as she grabs your bag right out of Finn’s hands. “This seems a bit heavy for you,” she teases, hauling it over her shoulder with ease. 

Finn rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just showing off.” 

She can’t seem to be bothered. In fact, Finn’s grumbling seems to _fuel_ her. “Oh, just as stiff as ever. Come on, silly.” She starts to lead the way into the floating palace you’re going to be calling home for the next… well, you don’t know _how_ long. Lando claps Chewie on the back and they fall into step, side by side. You have to run to catch up, and you fear that you’re going to be playing catch-up the whole night. 

*

“How long have you worked with Senator Organa?” Jannah asks after a tour of the administrator’s palace. She had shrugged off the decadent title, insisting that her duties weren’t all that glamorous as they sounded. “ _It’s just a lot of…_ overseeing,” she’d muttered, bare shoulders scrunching up almost to her ears. “ _Lot of delegation. Not much fun at all, really._ ” 

The more time you spend talking to Jannah the more you like her - and the more you like her, the tighter your chest feels. You watch her interactions with Finn closely, watch how easy they seem together, how Finn opens his mouth wide and _laughs_ like a child being tickled. He looks so at home on Bespin, so much more relaxed. He’s never laughed with _you_ like that. He only ever seems to tolerate you. You wonder if your dynamic would be different had you met under different circumstances, if those circumstances could even exist with what disparate lives you lead.

“About 4 years,” you answer, after staring in Finn’s direction for an embarrassingly long moment. You’re not sure if Jannah notices, but if she does she is polite enough not to bring it up. She doesn’t know you like she does Finn, but you wager the teasing will begin soon enough. You already feel comfortable around her, despite the fear that you may not measure up to her beauty and charm and ease.

“I started as her intern, and it already was _way_ more than I bargained for.” Jannah laughs her easy, bubbly laugh. “Political intrigue, conspiracy… never a dull moment. But I was the only one she’d hired that wanted to stay on. I think I… _liked_ the excitement. It made up for all the deadlock in the Senate.” A fond smile tugs at your lips when you think back on those first few years. “Leia was different from the others. More like a vigilante than a Senator.”

Jannah nods, casting a glance at Lando. “My father’s the same. I think when you divert your life to a cause as big as the Rebellion was, it can be hard to fall back and just… let things flow. Why wait when you can just grab a blaster and raise some hell?”

 _That_ makes _you_ laugh, louder than you anticipated. “Simpler times,” you add, and the two of you descend into giggles.

“What are you two talking about over there?” 

You and Jannah glance across the garden. Finn has discarded his jacket, leaving his arms bare so he can bask in what sunlight remains. You’re far enough away that you can marvel at the muscles rippling under his skin without making it too obvious.

Jannah threads her arm through yours and juts out her chin. “None of your business. Worry about the botchy Jedi tan you’re about to get.”

Finn all but sticks his tongue out at Jannah, turning his back to you both and stretching dramatically. Jannah chuckles, shaking her head with a fondness you can’t help but envy. “How long have you known Finn?” you find the courage to ask, as you fall into a comfortable pace with Jannah.

“Oh, our whole lives.” She squints against the sun now as it peeks through the buildings of the palace. A stripe of orange cuts her face in two, making her dark eyes shine with new shades of brown, and she raises her free hand to shield them. “My mom introduced Leia to Finn’s late mother. They all shared the same ideals - and the same reckless impulses, the way dad tells it.” You smile at the fondness in her voice. “They would have tea and just sit and debate for _hours_.” That sounds like you and Leia now, at least before this whole mess. “Some summers he would spend training with Luke. But when his parents…” 

She stops. Squints into the sun, as if it’s easier than meeting your worried gaze, or glancing at Finn, who at this present moment looks as if no harm has ever come to him. “After… he’d be with him very often.”

You look down at your feet as the two of you move in silence. It doesn’t take long for the sun to fully descend behind the walls of the palace. 

Jannah appraises you with a gentle smile. “You’re his first assignment, you know.”

“I am?” You don’t bother hiding your surprise. You suppose it might have occurred to you sooner, that Finn was brand new at this, but you don’t know how long Jedi are meant to train before they’re sent off into the galaxy. Besides, said galaxy was experiencing an unprecedented era of almost-peace. You had only known the Jedi to be good for two things: wars and defeating sith lords. 

Jannah nods. “He’s taking good care of you, I hope?” You nod back, perplexed by this new turn in conversation. 

“He’s a good man,” Jannah adds. She doesn’t seem to need a response, content to just speak that fact into the open air and let the wind carry it away.

You wonder what Finn will do with himself once his assignment with you is complete. Where he’ll go. Back to Luke Skywalker, to continue his training? To take on a new assignment like some freelance enforcer? Maybe you could hire him to head up your personal guard. That’s the most selfish thing you may have wished for in a long time, but you allow yourself to indulge in the thought for a moment before you let it go like Jannah does with her words. 

“He is,” you say finally, and you feel yourself releasing Finn as well. 

Jannah takes a deep, full breath and smiles at you. “That’s enough of _that_. You hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jannah <3 baby grill <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh we finally earning that M rating 😬

“Jannah’s very pretty.”

Finn turns his whole body to squint at you. He’s leading you to your apartment, which sits at the far end of the palace. Finn has assured you he’ll be close by, your rooms joined by a connecting door. He - along with Lando _and_ Jannah - also insisted that you couldn’t be safer if you were anywhere else in the galaxy. And, considering the last horrible thing that happened on Cloud City was a visit from Darth Vader over thirty years ago, you’re inclined to believe him. 

“Yeah, she’s…” He squints at you harder, knowing you’re playing at something but not quite clever enough to deduce it. “Yeah.”

Finn might be a Jedi, you think, but he’s still a man.

The door to your room slides open and Finn enters first, checking idly for threats as the lights hum to life. You marvel at his silhouette, dark, weighty and beautiful against the white walls and floors, like he’s floating in some inverted star field. “She said you’ve known each other since you were kids,” you continue, no real intention behind your words anymore. You’re just… talking. To fill the space between you. Maybe if it’s teeming with words you won’t be tempted to follow him around like you’re tethered at the hip. 

Finn leans against the counter in the kitchen, smiling his endearing half-smile at you. And stars, you thought you had decided to release him, to let go of your attachment to Finn, of your misplaced infatuation. It wasn’t fair to him to keep thinking about him the way you did, with such yearning, with an almost obsession. It’s not his fault that he’s so shockingly gorgeous, so kind, so open and wonderful and funny and sweet and-

“What else did she tell you?” Finn asks loftily. 

You avoid disclosing your discussion about his parents. There’s no way you can handle another discussion about them, about all that Finn has lost. It’s been too long a day. 

“About your training,” you decide to say instead. “About you and Luke.”

You breeze past him into your bedroom, and Finn stays where he is. Bhejit has laid out a nightgown for you to change into, although she isn’t present to help you out of your travel clothes and into the slip on your bed. 

Finn is quiet as you begin to change, your bedroom door left boldly open so you can continue your conversation. The _zip_ on the fly of your pants is downright raucous in the quiet apartment. 

“I didn’t always wanna be a Jedi,” Finn offers, and he sounds just as far away as you expect. You imagine him still leaned against the counter as you toss your dirty clothes into a little hamper by your bed. “I know that’s hard to believe.”

You let yourself chuckle, quiet and low so only you can hear. “What did you wanna be, then?”

He sighs, and now he sounds closer. You swear you can feel his breath on your back, but it must just be the breeze coming from the open window. “A prince,” he replies bashfully. You stifle another laugh as you step into your nightgown. 

“ _Really_?”

You turn to the door as soon as the straps of your slip are secure over your shoulders. Finn comes into view just then, still a ways from you, respectfully tinkering with a cabinet of meads and spirits. He must sense you when you step out from your bedroom. He straightens when he gets a look at you, and smiles - a smile for only himself. “Yeah. I was kind of a lazy kid.” This makes you laugh and Finn seems pleased. “Really I just wanted a cape, I think.” You purse your lips to prevent another laugh from escaping. “Figured the only other way _that_ was happening was...”

“If you relocated to Cloud City and moved in with Lando?” you offer, thinking about Lando’s own cape whipping majestically in the cutting wind earlier. Finn doubles over with laughter, and it’s _almost_ the same as the laughter Jannah seems to pry from him when they’re together. You’ll take what you can get; the sight of his massive, radiant smile paired with the daze of your fatigue is enough to send you into a comfortable, fuzzy high anyway. 

“You seem to love it so much here, you might as well. I’ve never seen you so happy.” You shuffle to the cabinet of drinks, curious to see whether you can find any Chandrilan hooch this deep in the Outer Rim. “Of course,” you start to say, feeling a thrill of courage rush through you, “If you wanna be a prince so bad, though, it’s not too late. You’d just have to find a princess.”

 _Or an administrator,_ that dark, self-loathing corner of your mind wants to add. Jannah might not be royalty, but she carries herself with such poise - just like Leia in holo footage you’ve watched of her at Rebel Alliance meetings and ceremonies... she may as well be.

It’s silent as you pull a bottle filled generously with a clear drink - you _hope_ it’s Andoan White - out of the maze of glass. Finn is watching you quietly. You can see he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. The effort makes that lone muscle in his jaw flex subtly. “What?”

He snaps out of it - of whatever _it_ was - and shakes his head abruptly. “Nothing.” He puts on a smile, but it’s not his real one. “I’m gonna go to bed. You’ve got everything you need?”

“Uh…” you fiddle with the neck of the bottle. Shrug. “Yeah. I think so.” Now it’s your turn to try for a smile. Fortunately he hasn’t discovered the difference between your real and your mustered. His own smile widens into something more genuine.

Finn brushes his hand against your shoulder. You _want_ to lean into his touch, but he’s already headed for the door that connects your two rooms. “In the event of an emergency… city-wide peril… Darth Vader mysteriously returns…” 

His attempt at a joke. Your attempt to _laugh_ is stilted in your tightening throat. 

He raps his knuckles against the door. “I’m not too far. Okay?”

You nod, then turn your back, to pour yourself a shot. “Okay.” And you punctuate that phrase by knocking back the drink.

It _burns_ going down. Oh, does it burn. Not as smooth as you were hoping and _definitely_ not Andoan White. But you pour another regardless and drink it like it really is. 

Finn hasn’t left yet. Why hasn’t he left yet?

You brace yourself and whirl back around to look at him.

He looks… concerned, but not enough to wipe that stupidly out of place smirk off his face. “You sure you’re good?”

You nod emphatically. “Yes. Stop worrying about me. You can take the night off, Solo.”

Why is he still hesitating? Why is he still smirking, and why is he walking back over to you at such a maddeningly slow pace?

“I’m not sharing this liquor with you,” you mutter, pushing your shoulders back in defiance. “It wasn’t that great at first but honestly… it’s starting to grow on me-”

“Shut up,” Finn murmurs, breath choppy from laughing. “I just wanna tell you…”

What? That he knows all about your pathetic little crush? That he’s made deeply uncomfortable by it and would like you to hang up your feelings straight away so he can run off into the sunset - the perfect, beautiful, orange Bespin sunset - with the seemingly perfect, undeniably beautiful Jannah?

You can hear him swallow, and you wonder what he has to say that’s taking so much effort and preparation to get out. But then he’s opening his mouth, shrugging his shoulders to punctuate his statement. “Princesses are overrated.”

Oh.

You head spins a little as you try to unpack this statement. “Don’t let Leia hear you say that.”

“She’d probably agree.” He takes another breath. You could swear you hear it stutter as he exhales. “And…” his weight shifts to his other foot. “Cloud City’s nice. But… I’m just fine where I am.”

What does that mean? On Hosnian Prime, with you? Training on that mysterious outer rim planet with Luke Skywalker? 

Either way… you know what he’s saying. There’s nothing here on Bespin for him. Not capes, not love… nothing. He’s just fine where he is. _Wherever_ that is. 

“That’s…” You swallow _hard_. Manage to nod. “That’s good to know.”

He seems frozen still, as if there’s something more he wants to say. As if he’s not sure he’s gotten his point across. 

“I meant what I said about this booze,” you murmur, to break the ice settling in between you two. You clutch the bottle to your chest; the glass is frigid against your skin. “Get your own.”

He chuckles. “Alright.” The door finally slides open and he starts to step through it. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Finn.”

The door whooshes gently closed and snaps shut like an airlock. Finally Finn is gone, you’re free to just _breathe_ , but you still don’t feel like you can. You brace yourself against the kitchen counter. The bottle clatters loud on the marble. You feel the alcohol surging through you, making you lightheaded, that pleasant fuzziness from before buzzing into something much less so.

Still, you pour yourself another shot. A smaller one. You just need to be able to sleep. You don’t want to give yourself even the _option_ to think about Finn, just once. Just for the night. Just for a few hours—

You jump at the door whooshing open again, at the sound of Finn’s feet - now bare - hurrying over the tile. 

Time to steel yourself again. Put your amor right back on. “Finn, I don’t wanna be rude, but I-”

Finn grabs your arm and spins you around gently. The sudden change of trajectory does absolutely nothing to help your already spinning head. Your hands fly up to stop you from falling and you find Finn’s broad, flexed chest. When you look up at him - he’s flushed, he’s breathing hard - he looks terrified. “Finn—”

Finn tangles his hands beneath your arms, to grab your face. You can’t believe what he’s doing. There’s no way he’s doing what you _think_ he’s doing.

But he is. Finn… _is_. He is grabbing your face, pulling you flush against his body and murmuring, “Couldn’t find any alcohol in my room,” before planting a searing, desperate kiss on your lips.

He pulls away with a curt _pop_ after the briefest of moments. Your hands clamp down on his wrists now, to keep yourself from keeling over. Maybe to keep him from backing away too, like he seems to be considering. Shock is locking your shaking knees in place, but the feeling of Finn, his warmth, the impression his lips have just left on yours, makes your legs feel like jelly at the exact same time.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, hands still holding you. He’s searching your face for feedback and he must not like what he sees. “I don’t know why I- I shouldn’t have-”

You shut him up with a kiss of your own, answering his passion with a ragged moan that you hope can communicate your own desperation. To feel his mouth again, to be that close to him again, to do what you’ve been dreaming about doing for _weeks_.

Finn staggers back at this shift in balance, but before long he is kissing you back, open-mouthed and hungry and _still so surprised_. He recovers quickly and presses you against the counter. You feel him... _him_ , half-hard against your thigh. And oh… stars. You didn’t think he liked you like _that_.

“Finn,” you whine, soft and keening, and it is his turn to moan. Your hands explore his hair, fingers splaying through the tight curls at the nape of his neck that are too short to be coaxed into his twists. “Finn,” you whisper now, breath hot on the corner of his mouth, right where his laugh line impresses into his skin. You kiss it, you kiss his cheek, his jaw - an inversion of the first time your lips ever touched his face. His beautiful, soft, _sweet_ face. You say his name every way you’ve thought about saying it, in every way you hope you will be able to in the future. “Finn-”

Finn’s hands come down to hook beneath your knees. You give way to him willingly, _so willingly_ , and he hoists you higher, wrapping your legs around his waist. With his hands occupied, smoothed against your ass and pressing heat through your dress onto your skin - he has to maneuver his face in line with yours so you will kiss his lips again. His tongue darts out from between his teeth and your lips are already parted for him, your tongue ready to lap at his. 

He starts to walk, further into your apartment, and your heart is hammering against your sternum because you know exactly where he’s headed. His steps are so assured, but you feel one hand leave you, to keep him from bumping into the wall. You link your arms tighter around his neck to kiss him longer, to kiss him sweeter, to savor the taste of him at your leisure. He moans again and the music of his voice, of his exclamations muffled by your own skin, is nothing short of heaven to you. 

Finn sets a knee down on top of the mattress, lowering you down onto your sheets with incredible control. He parts your legs with that same knee, so he can settle in between them, lowering _himself_ down now, slotting his hips over yours. His chest follows, pressing whatever air was in your lungs _out_ in a rapt sigh. 

There’s so much you want to say. But you can’t even string the words together, they’re buzzing so loudly in your head. 

Finn has found some other, crude way to communicate. He rolls his hips upward, and the friction of his pants over your thin undergarment, and even _that_ underneath your dress, coaxes another pitchy moan right out of you. 

He groans too, something low and guttural in the back of his throat, and his hands smooth over your arms, to pin your wrists above your head. 

He leans down further to kiss you again, but before he can, you hear the quiet echo of glass breaking. You wonder fuzzily if the bottle on the counter may have slipped and fell, but then the echo starts to grow louder, ricocheting towards you in reverse until it’s ringing in your ears and ripping you right from—

Your _dream_.

The dream you, apparently, were just fucking having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😇 see y'all next week ahahaaaa


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :) i'm so sorry friends :) for last week's update :)
> 
> JUST HAD TO MAKE SURE U WERE INVESTED HADHSJFSD
> 
> all jokes aside,,, thank you guys so much for your kind wordsss i'm so glad there are people even reading this!! the next few chapters are sooo juicy i'm so excited to share them :,)

You bolt upright but immediately buckle under the pang of a migraine. It’s the alcohol, it’s the sun streaming in through the window, the blinding light of it rising and shining into your eyes, that compounds that excruciating pain. You’re sprawled on your bed, and you realize you’ve managed to sleep through the night, but failed in your endeavor to forget about Finn.

When you glance over the side of your bed, you see the offending glass bottle that, by the looks of it, has just fallen off your nightstand to the floor. It’s not _horribly_ shattered, and you’re relieved to see you’ve only had about half the bottle. You’re just as much of a lightweight as you remember - maybe more so, considering the last time you _really_ drank was when you were still an intern, and would go out exploring the Hosnian nightlife with friends. That was back when you _had_ friends. Before it was just you and your work and Leia.

“Fuck,” you growl, feeling angry but at the same time _so_ ashamed at the fact that all of that - well, you don’t know _how_ much of that - was _a dream_. 

You should have known. Nothing you want ever falls so easily and beautifully into your lap. 

You’re careful as you get out of bed, careful not to disturb the dangerous _throb_ you feel at the back of your head, between your eyebrows… everywhere. You’re careful also not to step on any glass. You try to salvage what you can, try not to cut yourself. Where the _hell_ is Bhejit when you need her?

You throw on your robe and cast about the apartment, looking for something that may help clean up your mess. Unfortunately there’s nothing in your room - not in the pantry, not in the bathroom, not behind a secret little wall panel in the kitchen - that meets the criteria. You’re going to have to look elsewhere. Or worse: ask for help.

But first… water. So much water.

You realize, as you’re gulping down a glass from the tap in the kitchen, how good Bespin water tastes. You down one glass with ease, but your belly is too full to take on another. Plus, you realize, you’re nauseous. Just what you need today. 

Bhejit is sitting outside on the terrace when you step out of your room - incidentally, with Jannah. A tray teeming with breakfast and tea sits between them. You feel your stomach roll just looking at it.

“Well,” Bhejit says brightly. “Look who’s finally up.”

The terrace stretches on and out towards the gardens, where you find Finn, sparring with a group of musclebound men that you can only guess are members of the administrator’s guard. It surprises you that the “safest planet in the galaxy” even needs a guard… but Bespin couldn’t have escaped the Empire’s clutches on their beauty and charm alone.

What surprises you more is the sight of Finn, who weaves quickly and ruthlessly between his adversaries, cutting them down with two wooden batons that _thud_ dully upon contact with cloth and flesh. You’ve never seen him move with such precision. You’ve never seen _anyone_ move like that, like he’s in a fight for his life, like the two sticks in his hands are deadly weapons. Now you know what he’s really capable of with that laser sword of his. 

Another opponent raises his _own_ batons to counter Finn, maybe intending to overpower him, but Finn is _strong_ , so much stronger that he lets on. He brings his weapons down hard against his adversary’s and bears down even harder, every muscle in his back flexed - and you can tell because he’s shirtless. His skin is slick with perspiration and exertion, but besides that… it’s punctuated by a large, _ugly_ scar that cuts halfway down his back. What could have done that to him? Or _who?_

You feel someone reach for your hand, and look down to see Bhejit, gazing up at you in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” Your eyes dart to Finn again, who is gleefully winning the battle against those five, poor men, laughing as he fights them off, bouncing spryly back and forth between them. So that is what it’s like, to be a Jedi. To be able to fight like your life depends on it and barely break a sweat. You wonder how much more of his talents are being wasted following you around, protecting you from… from nothing. Knowing the real threat - or at least suspecting it - is after Leia.

Finn defeats his last opponent with a tricky move that you’re not even sure you saw with your own eyes. They each attempt to catch their breath, some of them kneeling with hands on their knees, others flopping onto their backs, helpless to do anything but gaze up at the clear sky.

“No fair, Solo,” one of them mutters. “We said no cheating.”

Finn, a cocky smirk on his face, circles the men casually, twirling one of his batons behind his back. Your eye is drawn to his scar once more. “I didn’t cheat,” he quips, and his smile now shows teeth. “I’ve just got one hell of a teacher now.”

“The hell is Skywalker teaching you?” the others start to ask, and you force your gaze away from Finn and back to your attendant. 

“I’m okay,” you murmur. “Just had too much to drink last night.”

“You got into the Angel’s Breath, didn’t you?” Now Jannah has jumped in. She grabs a horned melon off the tray in between her and Bhejit. “That stuff’s dangerous.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Finn start to make his way over. Your heart leaps immediately into your throat. “Yeah,” you agree dumbly, trying to remember why you’d come outside in the first place. “See, the bottle fell over, and shattered… is there someone who could-”

“Oh, TC will take care of it.” As if on cue, a protocol droid standing sentinel behind Jannah whirs into action, toddling into your suite.

“Uh.. it’s in the bedroom.” You feel like a child asking someone else to clean your mess up for you. “By the nightstand.” 

The TC unit nods politely and carries on to do its job just as Finn comes thundering up to the table. 

“Tell me you saved some meiloorun for me,” he barks, breathless. He goes for the jug of jabba juice and starts to raise it to his lips-

“Oh, no you don’t!” Jannah crows, standing a little in her seat. “You _sit_. And use a glass.” Finn scowls, but puts the jug down obediently. It only slams _a little_ when it meets the surface of the table. “And put a karking shirt on.”

Finn’s scowl only deepens but you can see a smile threatening to overpower it. “You just can’t stand to see a specimen like me in my natural habitat, can you?” He says this as he grabs a little half-robe hanging off one of the empty chairs and throws it haphazardly over his shoulders.

“I guarantee you: nobody wants to see _all_ _that_ this early in the day.”

Finn all but guffaws. “Speak for yourself.” You could swear he is glancing at you as he holds his hand parallel to the tray of fruit… and summons a meiloorun into his palm. 

You’ve never seen him do _that_ before either. Today is, apparently, a day of firsts.

Unfortunately that only fuels the lustful dream you’ve just woken up from. You turn abruptly away and retreat into your suite before anyone seems to notice.

“Finn Amdeo _Organa_ **_Solo_** ,” Jannah says, teeth clenched and bared. You thrill a bit upon hearing Finn’s name - his _family_ name - wedged in so casually with the names that have been made infamous across the galaxy. But his own, even without Leia and Han’s adornment, carries just as much weight, sounds just as dignified and powerful and important. _Amdeo_. You feel like you’ve discovered something precious, something you’re not meant to have.

“Geez, have you got all the surnames?” Finn sounds farther away the faster you walk. “You sure? I think you might have missed one.”

You’re grateful no one seems to have noticed you gone. You thrust your glass beneath the tap again and fill it to the brim with more water. This time you drink slowly. You savor it, you envision the water joining the blood in your veins, cleaning you out, burning the Angel’s Breath until you can think clearly again.

You’re about halfway through the glass when you catch Finn in the corner of your eye. He shuffles cautiously into the apartment, looking you over warily. “You okay?”

“Uh…” _Don’t_ look at his glistening chest, or the subtle grid of muscles that plate his abdomen. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Finn watches you finish what’s left of your water before piping up again. “You’re not gonna join us?”

“No, I-” What is there to _say_ at this moment? How do you explain that you’re not only hungover from three or four shots of highly-potent booze, but also from an intoxicating dream in which it was just you and Finn and you were acting upon (almost) every impulse you felt towards him? 

You choose to dumbly gesture to your empty glass. “I was thirsty.”

Finn can smell the poodoo from a mile away. “There’s water at the table.”

You shrink away from him, back against the counter, and the memory of Finn pressing you between it and his body - even if that wasn’t real - almost makes you flinch. “I know, but-”

“Is this about last night?” he demands suddenly, and your shoulders grow tense.

Oh, fuck. 

_Fuck_. 

Was your dream really a dream? Did Finn burst back in and kiss you with a scared, fleeting desperation? Did you kiss him back, just as tenderly, just as desperately? Did he really carry you back into your bedroom and—

Finn walks over slowly, dipping his head towards you. You keep your eyes down, staring at the glass in your hands. “I don’t remember anything that happened after dinner last night,” you mutter, bracing yourself against a spark of shame. “Except—”

“Except what?”

You glance up at him, wondering if you are imagining the hope in his eyes that leaves him open and vulnerable to whatever answer you’re about to give him.

“You walked me to my room,” you start, hands clenched tight over your cup. “We talked for a little bit. And then you went to bed.”

Finn frowns _hard_ now, and you know he doesn’t believe you. Why doesn’t he believe you?

“That’s it?” he asks tightly.

“Yes,” you respond, in a clipped, almost irritated tone. “I guess. And then _I_ went to bed?” you search his face for any change, but it’s hard like a stone now, unwavering and cold. “And I had a freaky dream, I guess, but—”

Now he looks _angry_. You’d almost forgotten what it looked like, him being angry with you. It has been so long since you’ve brought it out of him.

“A freaky dream,” he echoes, voice forced down into a calm rhythm.

None of this is helping to deduce what really happened from what didn’t. You try to dance around the subject one more time, in hopes that his response will inform you of anything. “I mean…” you shrug. 

Finn twitches a little, as if he means to shake off this alien irritation. “So do you don’t remember our… our conversation? At all?”

There’s no right way to tell Finn that you do remember. Not without betraying your feelings. You want to shrink back away from him, but there’s really nowhere for you to go, short of climbing up onto the counter. “Yes. Kind of. It wasn’t really important.”

Finn’s eyes now squint in surprise and suspicion. “Oh.”

You tilt your head back toward the ceiling in frustration. Anything to not have to look at him right now. “‘Oh’ _what_ , Finn? We talked about Bespin. We talked about… capes! Fucking _capes!_ I don’t know what more you want me to say.”

“Nothing, I guess, but it wasn’t just—” He’s upset. You don’t know why but it sparks something in you. _Hope._

You’re quiet, you’re _patient_ as he tries to arrange his thoughts. “I just thought it might have meant some-”

He cuts himself off abruptly as the TC droid comes whirring out of your bedroom, carrying a shallow bin filled to the brim with broken glass. 

The half-empty, half-broken bottle sloshes around amidst the flotsam. Finn stares at it as the protocol droid teeters by, oblivious to the tension in the room, and leaves with little fuss. 

Now, you think, Finn seems to understand. You are scared he might understand the wrong thing. But before you can explain, before you can _ask_ — his eyes, his narrowed, unyielding eyes, are falling on you again.

You’re the first to speak. Finn is taking too much time to form a response and you’ve always been quick to verbalize your thoughts.

“If I’m missing something,” you say evenly, trying very hard not to be angry yourself. “ _Just_ tell me.”

You don’t mean to sound as patronizing as you do but you can’t help it. You can’t help but feel frustrated by the fact that your head seems to be splitting open and sirens are going off left and right, that it hurts to even blink and you’re _starving_ and Finn is mad at you because you have the sense to shield him from the burden of being in love with him. And of course you’re not kriffing _in love with him_ , that’s just the hangover talking. That’s ridiculous. 

But what if you are?

Oh, now you _are_ angry. With yourself more than just Finn. How could you let this happen? How did you even find the _time_ to _let_ this happen? How could you look at Finn - in all his beauty and kindness and humor, sure - but overall in his obligation to keep you _safe_ , and somehow conflate that with actual romantic interest? _You_ , who are prone to tantrums and sulking and irritating every soul around you to get what you want? Who is convinced she is never wrong?

And Finn is such a _flirt_. Raised as much by Han as he was by Lando. His touches mean nothing. Not as much as they do to you. Their objective is to provide comfort. To calm you down. They’re not infused with his hidden love for you, and you’re dumb as rocks if you believed that for even a second.

But why is he so irritated? So resigned?

You’ll never know apparently. Because at once Finn is shaking his head and backing away from you. “It’s not important,” he mutters, and you barely hear it because he’s already turning for the door.


	15. Chapter 15

You spend most of the afternoon by yourself, holed up in your apartment with both doors closed. The windows stay open, bringing in the delicious breeze and reminding you of the incredible fact that you’re hovering over the clouds in a gigantic orb.

There’s nothing for you to do except play around on your datapad, flick through recordings and files you have saved, and try to make sense of the situation you’ve found yourself in. If you can try to help Leia, you can at least prolong thoughts of Finn, at least until you have to face him at dinner. 

Bhejit doesn’t ask you any questions when she brings in lunch. She even sits with you a while as you flip through records of Senate meetings from the past few weeks. You watch a recording of Leia’s speech from a month ago, the day the New Republic debuted a statue dedicated to her late father, Bail Organa, and listen as she defends the peace he sacrificed his life for.

“ _My father gave up his life for a legacy greater than any other — that of a lasting Galactic peace. That legacy is as much yours as it is mine. Our joint inheritance. And it is our responsibility to preserve that inheritance, that peace, from this day forward. Only by doing so can we truly honor and remember him._ ”

You move on to a recording from a few days before the first bombing, when the Senate received an emissary from Ryloth. 

Ryloth was one of few planets who had staked total independence from the Republic, after centuries of manipulation and slavery at the hands of one regime or the other. And honestly, good for them. You couldn’t remember a time before now where the planet had experienced such a lengthy period of prosperity.

“ _More than twenty years have passed since the New Republic promised to regulate organized crime,_ ” the emissary - Yendor is his name - proclaims. “ _Those same regulations were meant to protect Ryloth and every other world in the galaxy from large-scale criminal corruption._ ”

You know the rest of the story, probably better than anyone. You’ve been lobbying for more frequent enforcements and stronger support for these war torn planets since Leia took you on. And you have spoken at length about the bickering in the Senate, and how it has caused the concerns of smaller planets to fall through the cracks.

“ _One cartel in particular has proven to be a risk to the commercial shipping lanes in our sector_ ,” Yendor continues. “ _We know only that our pilots are being raided, that our merchants have been pressured for protection money_ …” 

You hear the crowd stirring anxiously. For most it was the first time they had heard of the Rinnrivin cartel. You remember Leia’s frustration after Yendor’s address: “ _We should have heard of them a long time ago_.”

Maybe that’s why a _Twi’lek_ had been identified in the aftermath of the Napkin bombing. Ryloth has been a pawn on the board of galaxy-wide organizations for too long. Not just the Empire, or the Hutt cartel, but the Old Republic as well. Even when the Jedi order had hundreds of members, almost an army, they did nothing to deliver the planet from slavery and oppression. The thought of it makes you sick.

The more you dwell on Ryloth’s motivations, the less you understand why anyone would want to target _you_. You’re the last to admit your virtues - you’re more keen to dwell on your faults - but even _you_ can acknowledge the work you have put in to fight for planets like Ryloth all across the galaxy. You’re one of the few allies they have in the Senate. 

You watch as the Senate, populists and centrists alike, stir into an uproar as soon as Yendor is finished. 

“ _How can we be sure this emissary’s information is even accurate?_ ”

The holo turns on Lady Carise: “ _What does he expect us to do? Senators are not lowly planetary constables to be sent out on every possible errand to enforce the law. We must think of the dignity of our office!_ ”

“ _Neither Bastatha nor Ryloth are under Republic jurisdiction. The Senate cannot interfere_.”

You then see Leia, sitting resolutely in a stately white dress, her hair pulled back into a braid that wraps round the crown of her head. You see the exact moment when she decides to take on this mission, with or without the Senate’s approval, hence her insistence on its secrecy. 

The evidence begins to amass in your mind. It’s starting to click but… not quite. And your head is starting to hurt again. 

You stand to stretch your legs as Bhejit starts to lay out your clothes for dinner. She must sense you glaring at the shimmering white dress that she’s plucked from the closet, because she glares right back at you, as if to say “ _what?_ ”

You hear the sound of flesh thwacking hollowly against wood from just out the window. 

Out on the terrace, you see Finn training - this time alone, maneuvering deftly between a funny-looking wooden dummy. It’s certainly old-fashioned, but Finn is putting it through the ringer, moving expertly through one complex set of strikes and blocks to another. Finn’s form is immaculate — not that you’d know anything about it. But you can just tell he’s doing it right, from his stock-straight posture - chest high and heaving as he forces out a breath with each new strike - to the way his hands flex and the muscles in his back pull taut under his skin.

The scene is framed perfectly from the window, the thin white drapes billowing on either side when the breeze comes in. Then Finn stops, shuts his eyes _tight_ and takes in air in greedy, affected gasps. He’s trying desperately to slow his breath, and you’re almost afraid he’s overexerted himself. He wasn’t like this at all this morning, all calm confidence and limited effort, as he managed to overcome every one of his adversaries. Now, though his form is still perfect, it’s like he has to work harder to keep it that way.

You watch him lean against the wooden dummy for support until he catches his breath. Then he starts again, face drawn down hard in concentration, in determination. His blows land harder as the seconds grow to minutes — and he still doesn’t stop. His movements become more rigid as he draws from his inner power. 

No... _not_ from his inner power. From something else. Something... _other_.

The Force. It’s the only thing keeping him from burning out. In fact it’s making him stronger the harder he works. And the harder he works the angrier he looks. 

Maybe it’s not the Force. Or… if it is… Finn is using it in a different, darker way.

Your fears are confirmed as Finn punches _straight_ through the wood of his opponent. If he were sparring someone real, his fist would have plunged clean through his chest.

Finn gasps and wrenches his arm free. You can’t describe the look in his wide eyes as he realizes what he’s done. It starts as shock, or disappointment maybe, and then he is just sullen. Resigned. 

He steps away from the dummy and bends down, to retrieve a perforated little sphere from where it sits on the ground. It hums to life and levitates for a moment in Finn’s palm. Is it... _waiting_ on him?

Apparently it is. Because as soon as Finn backs away, unhooking his lightsaber from his belt and igniting it, the unassuming little ball begins to dart and weave around him. You’re too mesmerized by the flash and hum of a kriffing _lightsaber_ , up close before your very eyes, to follow his movement as closely as you did before. The blue blade looks pale white as the sun begins to set, and Finn’s movements are decidedly more measured as he deflects little blasts from the sphere that taunts him.

You have enough sense to come away from the window before Finn catches you watching him. You have a feeling that, especially after your argument earlier, you won’t be well received.

Bhejit is holding up two necklaces for you to choose from when you turn around to face her. “Something wrong?” she asks loftily, draping one chain over your collarbone. “Besides the usual, of course.”

Your nose wrinkles at her comment. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She sighs, tosses one necklace onto the bed and turns to put the other back. “I’ve been trying to hold my tongue about this…”

“Oh, _have_ you?”

When she faces you again it is with a scolding glare and you somehow feel as if _you’re_ in the wrong. “I’ve tried to hold my tongue, but I can’t sit in silence anymore,” she continues haughtily. “You’ve always been a miserable little thing-”

“Oh, _thanks_.” 

Bhejit turns you away from her, to help you out of your day clothes. “That doesn’t mean I’m not fond of you. And anyway, I knew it was for reasons beyond your control. The burden of having to live up to such a legendary mentor. Having to fight for your life. And the lives of peoples across the galaxy.” 

You step into your dress for dinner. It’s itchy. But any discomfort you feel must mean you will look pretty. 

“I will forever be in Leia’s debt,” she continues. “If it wasn’t for her, my homeworld would still be ruled by imperial warlords.”

She’s referring to Andara, a planet in the Core similar to Ryloth, jerked back and forth between fascist rule and democratic disinterest for centuries of war.

The sensation of cold silver on your neck brings you out of your thoughts. “But you’re allowing your fear for her and her future distract you.”

“From what?” you ask, and you don’t know why you sound so scared.

Bhejit comes around to face you, pushing your hair out of your eyes so that it frames your face. Her smile is much more gentle now. “You know what.”

Your thoughts betray you. You think instantly of Finn, of how good it makes you feel to be near him, of how much it hurts to be fighting again. You recoil from your attendant so suddenly you almost trip over the hem of your dress. “No. I-” You force yourself to laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Bhejit says serenly. It’s like _she_ is the senator now, speaking with enough authority to move a moon off its rotation. “It doesn’t suit you.” 

You’re wringing your hands. Bhejit reaches down to hold them in her own. And when she speaks again, she sounds so much like your older sister that tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“Do you love him?”

“ _No_.”

You answer too quickly. Too _angrily_. Then you grimace. Ashamed. “I don’t _know_.”

You don’t expect Bhejit to laugh. Evidently, neither does she. She squeezes your hands regardless, to calm you. “But you _want_ him.”

“Yes.” The answer comes out just as fast and twice as desperate. You shut your eyes tight. More tears are coming. Why do you want to cry? “But he doesn’t want me. He can’t.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “ _Oh_. Maybe you’re not playing dumb after all.”

“What are you talking-” Bhejit shushes you, swiping at the rebellious little tears that escape from under your eyelashes.

“Just… _talk to him_ , darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna double update today but i haven't been writing so i have to keep my reserve as close to my chest as possible for now ffjdskfj hope u all are well! register to vote if u able~


	16. Chapter 16

Finn leaves his adjoining room at the same time as you when you’re all called for dinner. He’s dressed in some polished-looking robes - no doubt a gift from Lando - that wrap like ribbons over his torso. He must have something against sleeves, Finn, because the robes, like all his clothes, stop just short of his shoulders and leave his arms bare.

You’re reminded of Bhejit’s last command as she comes out of the apartment behind you, the door shutting behind her. _Talk to him_ , she seems to reaffirm as she brushes past you.

Finn smiles at Bhejit when she passes, but it’s the smile that does not reach his eyes. It intimidates you, though you’d never admit it.

“Haven’t seen you all day,” he mutters, faster than you for the first time. From the tone of his voice it doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to him. It sounds almost like a relief.

Your hands skim over the skirt of your dress. It’s less itchy now, but still clings to your curves - stars forbid you forget about the cinchy fabric for even a moment. You feel like you should be down with the clouds that drift beneath the floating city. It’d certainly be a more peaceful existence.

“I was trying to catch up on some work,” you offer awkwardly. “It’s never too late to make myself a little useful to Leia.”

Finn nods. “Right.” And then he’s heading down the steps, following Bhejit before you can get another word in.

This is going to be so much harder than you thought.

Fortunately there are enough friends at dinner to compensate for the tension between you and Finn. Lando and Chewie’s back and forth serves as white noise as the night passes and you watch the droids refill Finn’s glass of Corellian brandy. 

He’s on his fourth glass when Jannah, sitting next to him, puts her hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” you hear her ask. Your eyes are trained on your own glass of water when Finn glances around the table, to make sure no one else is paying attention.

“Yeah,” he replies. His voice is tight but he shrugs her off anyway, to take another small sip of brandy.

Jannah is watching him intently, concern muddling with a mild exasperation. But she seems to know which fights are worth it and which are appropriate for the dinner table, so she turns to finish the crab glider on her plate.

“So,” Lando purrs, gaze turning on you now. He sits at the head of the table, the circular window on the wall behind him framing his face in a sort of dark halo. You wonder if it was intentional, placing that window there. “How are things in the Core, hmm? Still devastated by my absence?”

Chewie roars softly, and you know it’s scuffed Lando’s ego because he shoots a withering look at the Wookiee before plastering on another smooth smile.

“Things are a little…” You search for a gentle word. “Defunct.” 

Not exactly gentle. You gloss past it and smile back at Lando, whose eyebrows raise in surprise. “Either way,” you add. “I’m sure it’s not your doing. Unfortunately. At least then we would have an answer to the question that’s been plaguing the Senate all these years.” 

You’ve flattered Lando; all memory of Chewie’s comments - whatever they might have been - now glimmer in the distance like the stars out the window.

“Seems Han was right about you," he mutters through a chuckle. "Just as blunt as that ole Princess of his.” 

You feel your ears grow a little hot in reception of that compliment. You think of Leia now, and you can’t help but miss her. 

“Leia might’ve mentioned a thing or two about that," Lando adds. "The bickering and deadlock and whatnot.” He swirls his glass, half-full of a clear liquid, in his hand as he speaks. “Something like a civil war of sorts in the Senate.”

You nod, sad to think of it even now. “It’s been challenging. The two parties can’t seem to get much done nowadays. They agree on so little.”

Lando nods, sympathetic. Even Chewie offers an apologetic groan.

“Still, it can’t be any worse than anything the Empire had to offer.”

This comes from Finn, who you’re surprised is deigning to enter any conversation you’re involved in after the way you left things.

He leans back in his chair, almost smug, his gaze bearing down on you. It’s like he’s daring you to say something. And you can’t lie, the implication that he would expect you to argue hurts more than anything. 

You don’t want to fight. And you don’t want to sound like a Centrist. But you’re still irritated from your conversation earlier. Your rebuttal comes out of you like Finn had used the Force to bring it forth himself.

“There are pitfalls to the Senate as well,” you start to say, ashamed at the smallness of your own voice. You used to be so much bolder, so unabashed. When you look up at Finn again, the indignation growing in his eyes, you feel your heart drop, but you force yourself to summon some courage. “In our lust for debate the Senate has allowed the less-protected planets to slip through the cracks. Ryloth is a perfect example of how the galaxy is growing crippled by partisan arguments.”

“So what would you rather?” Finn demands, and he now takes on a mocking tone. “Secure, centralized government? A stronger military to uphold that beloved _law and order_ your parents died defending?”

And that. _That_ , right there. That hurts more than anything anyone has ever said to you. More than the tabloids that called you a little girl when you were first hired as Leia’s intern. More than comments on your weight or your baby face as you stood before the Senate for the first time, advocating for aid teams to help strengthen relationships with planets on the brink of extinction in the Outer Rim. More than your argument with Leia after the Napkin Bombing, and _twice_ as embarrassing. You flinch at the severity of Finn’s words, despite the flippant air he threw them away with. 

You feel everyone’s eyes on you. You feel the silence in the room like a chill descending in the night. You feel your heart - and you have _never_ felt your heart beating so fast - surging blood into your head. Into your face. Into your cheeks. It’s almost painful how hot they are at this moment. Never in your wildest dreams - or rather, your darkest nightmare - would you expect Finn to use _that_ \- your _secret_ , a truth you trusted him to keep - against you. 

_Ever_. 

You don’t think Finn has realized how much he’s hurt you, even as Jannah nearly swings on him. “What the _hell_ has gotten into you?” she crows.

Finn takes her blows as if they weigh nothing at all, still staring at you. Not triumphant but… certainly satisfied with himself. It takes Chewie to chime in, with a low and melodious little bark, that tears his eyes from you.

You feel not unlike the wooden dummy, with its caved in chest after Finn drove his fist through it. You rise from the table before he can finish the job. 

Your chair scrapes so loudly across the floor. You hate yourself for failing to even make a graceful exit. But you feel the tears coming and you’ll be damned if you let anyone in this room catch you crying. 

“Please excuse me,” you whisper. 

Lando offers you a kind, apologetic smile, as if he’s saying _Sorry about him. That Corellian liquor… it’ll getcha_.

His words, however fabricated, comfort you as you turn to leave. Bhejit, standing by the cart of drinks, does not follow. She’s been by your side long enough to know when you want to be alone. 

The night air is cool and gentle when you stumble out into the garden. You can hardly see through your tears. You blink hard so they will spill down your cheeks and clear your vision, but it just paves the way for more. 

Before you know it you are sobbing alone on the terrace, braced against a stone railing that fences off the administrator’s apartments from the rest of the garden. You try your damnedest not to vocalize them, to cry just enough for you to get yourself together, straighten your shoulders and decide whether you’re going to hide the rest of the night or go back and face Finn. 

But you don’t _want_ to face Finn. Not now that he’s made you cry, like you’re fucking new at this, like no one has ever argued with you or been even remotely rude. But he promised to protect you. He promised no harm would come to you. 

Apparently he didn’t consider that he might one day be the one doing the harm. Neither did you.

You hear sounds of scuffling feet and you are willing to bet anything that it’s Finn. You can’t explain, but you just know.

“Why did you feel the need to do that?” you huff between reigning in your sobs.

It’s quiet for so long you wonder if you imagined someone sneaking up on you. But then you hear him, a ragged, reluctant “I’m sorry” cutting through the air back to you.

He’s _not_ sorry. He doesn’t _sound_ sorry. “I’m ashamed enough as it is,” you level back, a considerable amount of bite in your words. “Wasn’t that enough for you?” 

Finn answers quicker this time. Instinctively. Simply.

“No.”

What a piece of fucking work he is.

“Oh!” you cry, your voice _soaring_ now. You try not to let it crack under the thick weight of tears in your throat, tears you have swallowed and are bent on keeping down. “Total honesty. I didn’t think you were capable of it.”

You remember Finn is drunk as soon as you turn round to face him. He is unsteady, swaying under the slightest suggestion of the breeze swirling over the patio. Even you, with no training and no inclination to the Force, could knock him over like this.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks. It’s more an accusation than a question. 

“You know damn well,” you mutter. 

Your worst fears are confirmed. Finn _lied_ when he said you weren’t disgusting. He’s been harboring that lie, letting it fester, since the beginning. You didn’t think the Jedi to be liars. Now you see disgust all over his face. Even if it’s not _really_ there you can imagine it well enough. You have enough ingenuity and self-loathing to paint the picture for him.

You’ve chosen to retreat. Finn doesn’t deserve to see you like this. He doesn’t deserve to see you all teary and ugly and snotty. And anyway, you _didn’t_ _want_ to face him. You hold firm to that principle as you push past him, towards the beacon of the light that shines over your apartment door. 

You hardly get two steps before Finn is grabbing clumsily at your shoulder. You whirl back around and shove him with all your might. 

“ _Don’t_ fucking touch me.” He’ll never touch you again if he knows what’s good for him. 

Despite the fact that Finn is sent staggering back by the force of your push, he still finds it in him to laugh. Whether in surprise or begrudging respect, you don’t know. And you don’t care. 

“At what point have I ever been dishonest?”

“Every day since I've known you, apparently.” You turn and stalk through the garden, your fury stoked by the fact that Finn is following you.

The faster you walk, the farther you seem to be from the sanctuary of your apartment. The garden is more winding than you realize. “You lied to my face about how you felt about my parents. And you know, you talk a big game about the intolerance of the Centrists, the Empire’s hubris, but you’re certainly toeing the line yourself.”

Finn grabs your arm again hard and _yanks_.

It hurts. You won’t lie. But no way are you going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. 

“I told you before,” he nearly growls. “You don’t know anything. _Anything_. About me.”

“Like you have ever let me forget,” you spit back.

He squeezes your arm _tight_ in retort and you can’t help but yearn for the days he would touch you like you could break in his hands. But you refuse to let him punish you. So you just out your chin and you keep going. “I don’t know anything about you except what you’ll give me, Finn. Except what I have to pry from other people. Is it because you don’t trust me? Because my parents were Centrists?” 

You would have never thought to put the pieces together like this before tonight. It sounds wrong even now. And it’s come out of nowhere. You thought you knew Finn better. But seeing the way he looks at you now, it’s the only option.

“That’s…” _Not true? Say it, then,_ you think. _Prove me wrong._

You don’t recognize how badly you want him to until he lets you go and you feel that swell of disappointment. 

“You don’t know what they’ve _done_ ,” Finn mutters. His words tether you to him like a grappling hook.

You think immediately of the scar on his back, his aversion to shirts with sleeves, the way he flinches at an unsolicited touch. And you are desperate to understand what that has to do with you. “I’m not _them,_ ” you say, all bite having left your voice. “I wouldn’t… it’s not as black and white as all that.”

“It was all black and white,” he says back. You cling to that ‘ _was_ ’ like a lifeline. “That’s the only way some of us can afford to look at it. Empire versus Republic. Centrists versus Populists. But you-” he cuts himself off so shrewdly. “You’re…” _What?_ Different?

He pivots back to his last train of thought, voice breaking and your heart along with it. “You just don’t know. You will never know.”

“I would if you told me,” you offer, despite the inclinations you’re already racking up in your mind. It’s met with silence from Finn.

The silence stretches on too long. You feel your cheeks growing hot again. You fight against the tether between you and Finn, whatever seems to be tying you to him so cruelly, and make it - granted, with great difficulty - back to the refuge of your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I PROMISE THEY WON'T BE FIGHTING FOREVER


	17. Chapter 17

It’s impossible to sleep.

It’s just as well, of course. You don’t think you’re ready to have another dream anyway, considering how the past few have either been nightmares about the death of everyone you love or… fantasies about Finn. That will never come to fruition.

Poor Finn, you think. Having to pretend all this time. Having to play nice with you. 

But there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind, playing through the spectacular history of instances Finn was kind. Why would he commit so strongly to protecting you, to confiding in you, if he didn’t trust you… if he couldn’t stand to be around you? And for something as small as your late parents’ political ideations?

It’s too late/early for that line of questioning. You almost wish you still had that Angel’s Breath. Then at least you would be dead to the world for a few hours. Maybe if you tried again you wouldn’t be subject to another hyperrealistic dream.

You shuffle into the kitchen in search of a drink you recognize that won’t shatter your mind with another migraine. You promise yourself to be more shrewd this time, and pour yourself a modest glass of Coruscanti mead.

The terrace is quiet when you step out onto it, save for the sound of wind whistling gently through the garden below. You sit down on the terrace steps with your glass and your bottle and just… breathe. 

The mead doesn’t smell very inviting, but you want to sleep. You’re _desperate_ to sleep. So you lift the cup to your lips and start to drink.

“Didn’t take you for an alcoholic.”

You choke on the sickly sweet drink the minute you hear Finn’s voice behind you. You turn around to see him on the other side of the terrace - _his_ side, technically - in the posture he adopts to meditate. His back facing you, his arms folding behind him, his stance wide.

You glare daggers into his back. “I _so_ wish you’d stop sneaking up on me.”

“Hey, I was here first.” He takes a deep, cleansing breath. Your frown only deepens at the levity in his voice. 

“Can’t you meditate somewhere else?” you mutter, failing to keep it under your breath.

“Can’t you binge drink in the privacy of your own room?” he counters serenely.

You lower the glass slowly. You imagine it, briefly, shattering in your hands. 

It takes every muscle in your body to set your drink down on the steps and stand. “ _Fuck_ you.”

You leave it all there. The glass, the bottle. _Finn_. You notice his shoulders twitch beneath his billowy shirt, and before you can make it to your door he is turning and running after you.

“I’m sorry,” he calls, and he finally sounds genuine. He grabs you by the arm, gentler than before, and you can’t even count how many times he’s had to chase after you, stop you, even before you were fighting like this.

You wheel on him and hit his arm as hard as you can. He lets you, only a moment of shock flashing in his eyes. “You-” you hit him again, fist beating at his chest. “Are _such_ -”

“I _know_.” He catches your hands with his and holds them close to him so you can’t reel back and throw another poorly-executed punch. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

It doesn’t fucking _feel_ the same when he touches you anymore. When he holds your hand. The realization makes you angrier. Maybe this is what it takes, to fall out of love with Finn. Maybe you were _never_ in love with Finn. It was some misplaced adoration, or a projection of your loneliness, your desperation to _have_ someone.

Still, you miss him touching you. So much so that you give in, sagging against his chest, still keeping yourself at arm’s length. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

You are so tired. Too tired to mince your words anymore. You stare up at him blearily, begging for an answer. For an end.

“I don’t know,” he says. And it almost sounds like the truth. He’s just as tired as you are.

You shake your head. “Yes you do.”

Finn just… shakes his head. He’s not looking at you. He’s looking at everything _but_ you.

You pull away. He doesn’t chase your hands with his. Instead he lets his arms fall to his sides as you step toward the railing of the terrace.

“Last night,” he finally says, voice almost hoarse with exhaustion.

“Please don’t make me talk about last night,” you snap. “I told you. I barely remember.”

“Besides our conversation.” You don’t want to look at him, because you can feel his emotions stirring just as loudly as yours. “You don’t remember your dream?”

...How does he know you even _had_ a dream? Was that something you'd mentioned?

You're fighting through the panic to get some semblance of your memories, a fucking _linear timeline_ of the day you are already trying to forget. You almost feel sick again, like you had put off your hangover as long as possible, and now the anxiety is triggering a reprisal. You force yourself to breathe. “What does it matter?” you ask, focusing only on your knuckles, turning pale as you grip the railing. 

“Because I…” Finn’s own breath sounds shaky as he steps closer to you. “I had one too, and I… I thought it was just me.” 

His voice dives down into a shameful whisper. It bleeds into the breeze and it sends a shiver down you just as easily. 

“I dreamed I kissed you,” he continues, and something in his voice has changed. He doesn’t sound tired anymore. But he does sound scared. 

You can feel the heat of him, of his body, on your back. “I dreamed I touched you.” And it’s like he’s touching you _now_ , the way his words send warmth to the pit of your stomach. “I dreamed you liked it.” And _fuck_ , your mouth is watering, but it’s not because of the nausea. 

You try to turn, to face him, but he’s standing so close that your shoulder butts into his chest. 

He folds into you immediately, his free hand ghosting over the small of your back. You feel his heart beating, feel his chest expand and contract with rapidity. “Is that what you want?”

He is about to fully eclipse you, his forehead is just a hair from yours, but he hesitates, pulls away to bring your face back into focus. “Tell me,” he finally murmurs. You shudder at his breath on your nose, at the smell of the Corellian brandy from earlier.

You don’t know how you got to this point so quickly. How you both jumped from fighting to… to _this_ , skipping over several crucial steps to get here. This is not reconciliation. This isn’t concession. This isn’t compromise. This is… Finn, his body pressing against yours at an awkward, rushed angle, as if he couldn’t wait for you to fully turn around before holding you in a place he’s never touched you before. This is more than hands touching, more than shoulders grazing, and _so much more_ than that time, moments before the second bombing, where Finn’s hand was on your arm for more than a split second. 

He calls your name and you jump at the huskiness in his voice. He doesn’t want to repeat himself. You can tell. But you can’t bring yourself to answer him. 

Suddenly you feel it. That same… _hum_ , that same sensation from the first time you asked Finn to read you. Your energy. 

Your mouth falls open in absolute shock, at his _gall_ , to peer inside your mind without permission. 

But it feels different this time. Instead of a pressure, a _force_ pressing in on you, you feel as if the air around you has opened, as if it’s tilting, dipping… towards Finn. _His_ mind.

You feel warm all over — as if you weren’t flushed enough already. You realize quickly it is Finn, introducing his own sensation, layering it over yours. You feel a raw emotion unfamiliar to you, a strange sense of yearning, and you realize it is _Finn’s_ emotion, _Finn’s_ yearning. It glows red like an ember: timid, reluctant… but still there. You feel inklings of fear, an underlying, _perpetual_ fear that seems completely unrelated to the moment here and now, and makes your pulse quicken even more.

But more importantly… you feel _and see_ Finn, his hands ghosting over bare skin — _your skin_ — reaching down, between your legs… 

_Is that_ … you hear him, his voice, in your head, and your knees go weak.

You see his mouth on your mouth, on your shoulder, on your breast—

_Is that what you want?_

You take a deep breath, to clear your head. “What if it is?” you whisper, and grab the hand that rests on your hip. “What would you do?”

He must think you’re trying to move him away, curbing his advances, and he tenses almost immediately, tries to take his hand back. But you fight him, stronger only in will, and pivot so that you now face him fully.

His expression muddles with confusion, with frustration. You watch his eyebrows knit together, as he gazes down at you, your body, then glares back up at your face. His breath is growing so desperate, so labored. 

You take a shaky, terrified breath before finding your confidence. “ _Show_ me.”

The hope you saw in his eyes before now registers fully, mingling with relief, and arousal, and _hunger_. He reaches up to grab your face. He strokes your cheek before carding his hand through your hair, to cup the back of your head. 

He pulls your face to his. _And he kisses you._

The two of you both moan instantly. He doesn’t pull away, like he’s savoring you, and you relish in the feeling of his mouth, of his own taste. It’s even better than your dream. You push your tongue past his lips and he falters for a moment, surprised, before deepening the kiss.

His hand is moving, roaming from the small of your back and down your ass. He squeezes once, experimentally, and you gasp. 

He smiles against your lips and kisses you again with more fervor. His hand continues to explore, returning to your hip, squeezing again briefly. Then his fingers trail down, along the front of your leg. And then you feel him - the warmth of his hand on your leg, cold from chills - under your dress. He gets the fabric out of the way and parts your thighs gently. Your thoughts immediately start to thrash in your mind. 

He pulls away and you already miss kissing him. But he seems determined to watch you, your face, as his index finger drags along the wet spot of your underwear. Your gasp sounds so loud when it’s not suppressed by Finn’s own mouth, and Finn’s impressed, smug smile is so much more disarming this close up. You’re already leaking, dripping graciously onto the fabric of your underwear. You don’t think Finn expected that, but he’s happy to have encountered it.

Your head falls back into Finn’s other hand, still gripping your hair, as he begins to rub languid circles between your legs. You feel the cold stone railing of the balcony pressing into your back. It would hurt so much more if there was not so much pleasure stirring in the pit of your core. If Finn wasn’t already pulling your underwear aside, to coat one of his fingers in your wetness.

His breath comes out like a laugh. And it is funny when you think about it. The fact that you felt this way, and he felt the same and you’re only just now realizing it. You’ve wasted so much time when it could have been like _this_. 

It makes you want to laugh too. But before you can, Finn is slipping that sole, slick finger inside of you, and your laugh turns into a grateful sob in no time at all.

You want him to use the leverage of his hand in your hair to pull you closer, to kiss you again, and he seems to sense it. He yanks you to him greedily, kisses you gracefully, hungrily. But it ends too quickly; before long he is using that same leverage to tug your head back and expose your neck. His lips find the column of your throat, leaving open, wet kisses on the path to your collarbones. His hand follows, slipping down the back of your neck, finding your shoulder, the strap of your dress. He clumsily pulls at it, then reaches around to pull down the other.

How does a Jedi in training know how to do _any_ of this? you wonder dimly, parting your legs wider for him. Your hands grip the thin fabric of his shirt as he hoists you up onto the railing and wraps your leg securely around his torso. 

Finn’s teeth _drag_ across your collarbone between kisses, the hand between your legs continuing to pump lazily into you. Despite the pace, despite the fact that Finn has you pinned against the balcony rail and is doing this - _all of this_ \- to you out in the open, you feel heat building up inside you. He doesn’t seem to mind the lack of privacy - in fact, it seems to fuel him. Moreso as he pulls your dress down the length of your arms until its straps are caught in the crook of your elbows. He stares down at your breasts, the dark of his eyes growing still darker, blown out by lust. 

He rolls his wrist in a new, snapping rhythm, hitting a whitehot spot inside of you that has your legs starting to shake. You hate how wide his smile has grown at the sight of you, in such disarray from just his one finger, his mouth, his tongue. You suspect there is still so much more he can do with those three, and the thought makes you shudder and grind down to meet his hand.

“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning down now to flatten his tongue on one of your hardening nipples. You throw your head back and whine towards the sky, at the stars that seem so much closer tonight. You reach up into his hair, to feel the tight curls at the nape of his neck, and he moans in approval. Your second hand, bridled by the straps of your slip, strains to hold onto Finn as he begins to palm at your other breast.

Where his tongue at one point lapped in shallow exploration, Finn now ventures to include his lips and teeth again. He seals his mouth over your nipple, breath hot against your skin. “ _Finn_ ,” you sob again. But he doesn’t stay there long, as if running through a long list of areas of your body he has wanted to investigate.

His hand slips from between your legs and he stands just in time for your head to slump against his shoulder. “Stars,” you whine softly, disappointment and fatigue wracking your body. Now both Finn’s hands run down your leg, securing you around his waist.

Finn nudges your chin up with his knuckles, looking fatigued himself as he dips his head down and kisses you with such tenderness. “Hold onto me,” he whispers on your lips, and you comply, your dress slipping back up your arms as you lock your wrists around him. 

The door slides closed and locks behind Finn as he carries you over the threshold and through the kitchen. His hands don’t leave you, running up and down your back, along the underside of your leg - and he walks as quickly as he can to the bedroom.

The way he sets you down on the bed reminds you of your dream again. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, but you’re determined to stop comparing before this goes too far. This is _actually_ happening. Finn is actually lifting his shirt over his head, undoing the complicated clasp of his pants… 

Oh, he looks so much better closeup. The soft lines of his chest, the hard lines of his shoulders, bleeding and blurring together — the light of the moon softens him all the more, casting the deep warm brown of his skin into a dark, cool blue. He is beautiful. So beautiful you think you probably should pinch yourself. Just in case you’re dreaming again. 

Instead you scoot to the edge of the bed. For the first time he looks nervous, and you worry he might be having second thoughts until you catch a glimpse of him, peeking out from the waistband of his pants. “Is this okay?” you still ask.

You feel a wave of arousal between your legs when you look up at Finn, his bare chest, heaving with the effort to repress his own desire. 

“Yes,” he keens, and you reach into his pants so quickly you wonder if he compelled you to take him in your hand.

He’s _thick_ , you realize, before you’ve even seen all of him. He pushes his pants down around his knees and you use your free hand to help him the rest of the way, so they pool at his ankles. And _oh_ , fuck… he’s already leaking. Your lips part just enough to mouth at the tip of his length, tongue darting out to swipe up the bitter beads collecting there.

Finn takes a harsh breath in through clenched teeth, hand clamping down on your shoulder, fingers finding their way back into your hair, to guide you down his length. You take it as encouragement and open your mouth wider, flattening your tongue along the underside of him and licking back up to the tip, and it sounds like he’s choking on the air in his lungs.

You stand, your hand picking up where your mouth has left off. He groans, a needy little sound, and reels you in for another kiss. It’s not enough for him, you realize, the pace and urgency of your stroke. But you are not nearly so quick to progress as Finn was. Your list is short. You can address each resolution with less urgency.

“You wanna sit down?” you ask, soft against his lips. He nods once, a rough, intemperate jerk of his head, and steps out of his pants. He kicks them to the side and fervently slides your dress down your shoulders. You try not to shiver, now that there is nothing between the two of you, and he can take you in greedily, rake his eyes up and down with no clothing to interrupt him. He takes full advantage of his height, and lets his hands ghost down your neck, shoulders, waist… over the curve of your ass, and he groans again at the mere fact that he is even able to _touch you._

Then Finn steps past you, not taking his eyes off you for a moment. His hand holds yours, and you allow him to twirl you around so that you’re still facing each other when he sits down at the edge of the bed.

He pulls you onto him and you barely have time to straddle over his lap before he is throwing his arms around you, locking you in a tight embrace. He buries his face in the shallow valley between your breasts - kissing and biting and… _stars_ , how does this feel so good? His hands splayed on your back, pressing you still closer as he smothers himself in you, your scent... He licks one long, hot stripe up to your neck and your composure departs as quickly as it came.

“Finn,” you beg. You hope he’s not getting tired of hearing his name. You could say it forever. There’s so many ways to form it on your lips. You repeat it immediately as Finn reaches between your bodies, to coat himself in the slick that’s dripping from you. You press your forehead against his, realizing the sensation of him just teasing you is too much, feeling your own legs shake with anticipation, knowing very well that you might not last long.

Finn knows too. He’s smiling, despite the growing desperation in his strokes. He is cupping your ass now, guiding himself to your entrance. 

“Is this okay?” he echoes you, voice exponentially more desperate. 

You nod in mirrored desperation. “ _Please_.”

It doesn’t take any effort for him to enter you. There is no pain. Just searing hot bliss as he fills you. You slide down over him like you were meant to, let his width stretch your walls. He moans so loud that he can’t help but kiss you, to mute the anguished sound by throwing it in the cavern of your own mouth. 

You didn’t want to move this fast. You wanted to take your time, but now you feel Finn’s sense of urgency, you feel yourself fraught with the need to feel him, in every way possible, before it’s too late. You feel as if your wills are being joined together and coaxed - _shoved_ , really - over the edge of a precipice that’s going to swallow you whole whether you like it or not.

But _Maker_ , do you like it. You dare say you love it. You love the weight of Finn, pushing deeper into you with each thrust, the strength of his hips, fatigue battling his determination as his own legs start to shake beneath you. You love the way that little line in his forehead creases as his eyebrows draw themselves down over his eyelids. You love…

 _Him_. You _love_ him. And it scares you, but it exhilarates you, too. It makes you tremble the way Finn is trembling, and you channel it into the torrid, excruciating ache that Finn’s thrusts are beginning to address.

You go slow, using your weakening legs to help Finn take more of you and pull out further. You toy with the idea of telling him, wonder if it will sweeten this feeling you’re sharing. If it will resolve this sensation of _not enough_ , if it’s the missing ingredient, the only thing you need to let go of before you can unravel in Finn’s arms.

But Finn stills you with his hand before you get too lost in your own mind, carefully rolling you over onto your back. He takes a moment to settle between your legs before pulling out and pushing in again, and you were wrong - you were _so_ wrong. This is what you needed. _This_ \- Finn hoisting your leg higher to hold you open for him, to enter you deeper. It’s so sweet you can almost taste it in the back of your throat, this euphoria. You both cry out together, and you’re pleased it seems to feel as good for him as it does for you.

There are no words now, no other ways to communicate besides the grind of your hips and the assortment of cries you’ve learned to release when necessary. It’s coming so quickly, like you’re flying towards a planet at hyperspeed. There’s a moment, a delicious, insane moment, between Finn’s exit and his reentrance. He feels it too, a piercing limbo where that ache returns, and he plunges into you again in an attempt to chase it. You sob into the corner of his mouth, your hands clutching at his neck, his arms, keeping him so close that his heaving chest skirts over your breasts with each new thrust.

Finn finds the fledgling star growing inside you. At first he had only brushed against it. Now he is outright piercing it, again, and again, and you dig in, helpless to do anything but take him, and let the sensation take _you_. Your hands fall listlessly above your head as you give way to him, as you let him almost crack you open.

“I feel it too,” he whispers into your hair, and the assurance of him, his voice - usually so grounded and sure, now cracking with exertion - makes you cry out again. He must not need the Force to read you anymore. He must know you, _really_ know you now. You feel like whatever it is that’s joined you, whatever it is dragging you into this supernova of pleasure with him, must have joined your minds as well as your bodies.

You grip him, his side, his arms, nails clawing gently at his shoulders - and he sucks in another harsh breath. He snaps his hips into you more deliberately, eyes darkening all the more. He _likes_ it.

“I - _fuck_ , you feel so good.” He takes your hand, threads his fingers through yours, and _squeezes_.

He doesn’t stop, his thrusts don’t let up. If anything, he is finding his second wind, pumping into you with some kind of feral determination. He now kisses you everywhere, his other hand dipping down between your legs, to rub you _there. Right_ there, and you almost fucking _scream_ when he introduces his finger to your clit.

“ _Yes_ ,” you both whisper breathlessly, you towards the ceiling and Finn against your skin between kisses and skittish bites. You feel him, you _hear_ him telling you it’s okay, that you can let go. You feel that star growing inside of you, expanding and immediately ebbing, then building again when he finds the perfect rhythm, the pace and angle that’s going to completely drag you under, towards catastrophic pleasure. 

You arch under him and your chest presses flush to his. “Don’t stop,” you yelp. And he doesn’t. Not for a second. Not until stars are zooming by your field of vision, not until you really _are_ crying, tumbling down, down, down - and taking him with you.

“Where do you…” he starts to ask, hips stuttering. He calls your name and you can hardly hear it over the tail end of your release.

“Inside,” you say, your dying arousal reignited by your boldness. Finn growls, in surprise, in hunger, and he thrusts only twice more before burying himself inside of you, arms clenching around you, as if to shield you from whatever might want to harm you beyond this moment, on some distant planet somewhere. You let your nails rake his back again and he shudders at the feeling, whispering _fuck, stars, Maker_ … calling out to any deity to tether him before he completely loses himself.

And then Finn calls your name again as he comes down from his high, and he kisses you... and he says it again, just barely pressing his lips to yours, too tired to deepen it. 

Stars, you love him. This is the only thing that ruins it. That excruciating bliss was just a distraction. You feel the fear try to reach for your heart that was just moments ago so full, so satisfied. 

You didn’t think love was supposed to hurt. You didn’t think it would feel so much like a frigid vice. And it only does, you know, because you’re ignorant to Finn’s own feelings, despite feeling so entwined with him just _seconds_ ago.

You can’t think about this now. Not with him still here with you, still pressing his lips to yours, as if asking _you_ to deepen the kiss for him. 

So you do. You grab his neck and kiss him, for all that you are, and all that you have, and all you could lose when the sun rises in a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO???????
> 
> oh my gosh everyone remain calm it's happening and it's nOT??? A DREAM............... oprah gif
> 
> shoutout to finnreys because the dream-sharing thing was Not something that had even occured to me until i saw their comment and this chapter was already written but i knew something was missing.... and it was that....... so i owe u my life baybee


	18. Chapter 18

You wake up to the sound of the fountain just outside your window, the breeze whistling through the curtains, the warmth of the sun pressing its way in.

And Finn, head burying between your parted legs.

“Finn,” you slur, too tired to crawl away, and too enamored with the feeling of his warm, rough hand coaxing your thighs still wider.

Your head feels so heavy but you try to sit up anyway, to frown at Finn when he smiles up at you. “Good morning,” he whispers, his breath hot against your lower lips. 

“What are you-” Your question, albeit rhetorical, is answered as soon as Finn lowers his head to kiss you. The words die in a tangled moan when you feel his tongue coaxing you open for him. You want to cry again at the slick warmth parting your folds like a curtain, but you decide instead to call his name, and he grunts appreciatively at the praise.

His shoulders push forward, pressed up against the backs of your thighs and folding you almost in half. You don’t know why this makes you angry. You have never felt so satisfied as you felt last night and yet here Finn is not hours later, addressing and igniting needs you thought had been extinguished. Maybe it’s that, the fact that Finn’s attentive, fervent mouth has been denied to you so long and you don’t know what to do with all this sudden enthusiasm. But it makes your arousal spark even hotter to think that Finn has wanted to do this all this time, and now that the door has been opened it’s become a floodgate for all his pent-up desire to flow… into you.

“I didn’t clean up my mess last night,” Finn murmurs, pulling back for a second to press kisses along your inner thigh. You watch him watch your breasts, heaving in almost anxiety, and it makes your own mouth water.

“I hate to break it to you,” you reply, voice broken and desperate. “You’re just going to make a bigger mess.”

Finn chuckles, sending shockwaves into your core because his mouth is back on you and his tongue is swirling deeper than he could have ventured with lips and teeth alone. “I’m very thorough.” His reply is nearly smothered under your thighs. You only hear it because your ears are straining to make sure no one else is awake and milling around outside. Granted your quarters are more or less closed off from the others, but if you know anything about Bhejit, it’s that she _will_ show up, and _not_ when you need her. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, or his mouth, content to kiss and lap at you until your hips are grinding a mile high off the mattress. His smile manages to widen at the sight of you, and _yes_ , you realize. Finn is _very_ thorough. 

When he pulls away you feel like crying out - but you hold your tongue because Finn is crawling up to lie on top of you, his thighs replacing his shoulders in their quest to keep your legs spread so that your knees are touching your ribs. 

He kneels now on his elbows. You can already sense how hard he is, the weight of him looming so close to your entrance. You remember that you love him, dimly, as he hovers over you, lips shiny with _you_ and tugging upward in a smug smile. 

“We’ve got about twenty minutes before they call us for breakfast, I wager,” he says huskily. Something tells you the twenty minutes can come and go, and the two of you will willfully forsake breakfast for the chance to devour each other.

You let him grab your hand just like he did last night, pinning it over your head. You reach down in turn and grab hold of him. He throbs in your palm and you both let out a needy moan.

“That’s fine,” you whisper, guiding him toward you. His hips follow, pushing gently until he is seated fully inside you. And fuck, it’d only been a few hours but you realize now how you missed him.

You try your best to be quiet. You will him to kiss you and he does. You taste yourself on his tongue, and the filthiness of that alone kicks another moan out of you.

Finn goes slow, content to explore every ridge and dip in your walls and now you know that those twenty minutes will mean nothing in the grand scheme. You’re both too transfixed by the squelch of your wetness as Finn pushes back into you. He breaks the kiss to glance down between your legs, aghast that it’s _him_ producing this sound. He swears softly under his breath and it turns you on all the more. 

“So this is why,” you muse, more to yourself than to Finn, though the rapt look on his face plays a part in bringing it out of you.

His forehead rests against yours and his eyes drift closed. “Why what?” he asks you, kissing you skittishly. 

“Why you were so mean.” 

His thrusts slow into a lazy grind. You wonder if his guilt is affecting it. He opens his eyes and comes to a full stop, gazing down at you. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“No,” you agree, too proud to forgive him out loud. You rest your hands on Finn’s back, careful not to touch his scar, and watch him catch his breath. You wait for him to explain himself further, and you know it’s ridiculous to want that when you have what you have already. But that doesn’t stop you from waiting still. For an apology, an excuse… _something_.

Instead Finn smirks, and you feel him twitch inside you. “How can I make it up to you?”

Oh, you are not on the same page at _all_.

You feel your resolve dip when you realize what this could actually be. Finn, unrepentant in his distrust but willing to admit the attraction you both share. Wanting to blow off steam, to take the energy between you, that raw fire, and diminish it just enough to make it bearable. 

The disappointment and hurt must be apparent on your face because Finn immediately takes notice. 

“No, don’t do that.” He kisses the pout on your lips. “What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

 _It’s what you_ didn’t _say_ , you think bitterly. But he’s still a man. Just a man. You have to remember that. 

“Nothing,” you try to convince him, as he strokes at your side with his free hand. “Kiss me again.”

That, he can do. What begins as a tentative peck quickly melts into a searing kiss that takes you back to how you felt just moments before. You force yourself to simplify it. It’s not personal. It’s you and Finn joined in an embrace that is frankly more than you could have ever hoped for. You allow the heat to grow between you again, the friction, the _flame,_ and before long Finn is rolling his hips and causing you both to moan again.

“Fuck,” Finn mutters, his hand squeezing your fingers tight. You wish you could throw yourself into the same abandon but the sound of footsteps outside makes you go rigid. 

“Finn,” you whine. He’s in tune enough with the nervous little distinctions of your voice to understand. He kisses you, long and deep and reassuring. 

_It’s okay,_ he says, and the sound of his thoughts pulls you under the waves of rediscovered arousal. He whispers “ _fuck_ ” against your lips for a second time and you feel shockwaves in the pit of your stomach. He lets go of your hand, only to wrap his arms around you and hold your closer. 

You let yourself tighten your arms around his back in kind, and your fingers rest on the raised impression of his scar. He shudders a little, and you start to pull away but he stills you, hand flying back to cover yours and hold it against his skin. _It’s okay,_ he says again. 

He is so confusing, _dizzying_ in the forms of intimacy he’s willing to allow, but you try to use that lightheaded feeling, try to be grateful as he kisses you like he’s yours. It doesn’t take long to find that delicious rhythm again, to feel yourself edging close to that precipice. 

You wonder if it’s always like this for Finn. All tangled closeness and earnestly ignorant connection. You wonder how many people he’s shared this with. And how many - if there _were_ any - that he actually loved. You remember the legend of that attachment rule, and you remember how Finn never confirmed or denied its existence, its enforcement, and the thought sends you into a kind of panic _you know_ Finn can feel.

He stops immediately, looking completely stricken. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice shedding that skin of lust he had used to speak to you with all morning. He’s looking you up and down, nearly panicking himself. “Did I hurt you?”

Yes. And no. He’d never do it on purpose, you start to think, but then you remember again how he was drunk at the dinner table and tossing the truth about your parents around like you were on trial for murder. _Don’t cry, don’t you_ dare _cry._

“What’s wrong?” he’s breathing hard, trying to come down from the climax that was building. You feel so guilty. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, hoping he will not sense your dead-faced lie under the tempest of fear and hurt and guilt. “I think I’m just…”

There’s a soft but insistent knock at your door. It can only be Bhejit. 

“Breakfast ready!” she calls. “Do you need any help dressing, m’lady?”

“No!” you call back, over Finn’s shoulder. He’s still watching you so closely. “I’ll… I’ll be out in a bit.”

Her footsteps retreat and you both sigh a little in relief. Finn dares to laugh, and you venture a smile. 

“We can stop,” he offers, but the reluctance in his voice clashes spectacularly with his chivalry. 

You sigh, more upset with yourself and the fact that you can’t just let go long enough to enjoy good sex. And it _is_ good sex; you’ve had enough of the bad to know the difference. 

“I’m just nervous, I think.” That’s closer to the truth, you suppose. “I don’t want anyone to…”

Finn nods and starts to sit up, pulling out of you delicately. Stars, even _that_ feels good. Even that makes you whine, and Finn immediately takes notice. He is painfully hard, completely coated in your slick, and you’re turned on all over again.

“I can close the window,” he offers, and you nod so furiously it rattles your own brain. 

Fuck, does he look good as he creeps toward the window, closing it tight and snapping the blinds closed. You have but a few moments to get over yourself as Finn comes stalking back, his tentative concern giving way to something very dark and very lustful in his eyes. 

_Yes_ , this can just be good sex. It has to be. For your sake as well as Finn’s. You’re annoyed enough at yourself for all this indecision, and Finn has been uncharacteristically patient. But you get the feeling, as he hops back onto the bed and turns you over onto your stomach, that it won’t be for much longer.

“Is this okay?” he asks, bending you towards him until you’re on your hands and knees and your ass is in the air. You keen at the growl in the back of his throat and swallow _hard_ , taking great care to nod again. 

He spanks you, lightly, and you gasp against the sheets. “Don’t think about them,” he whispers, his breath and his hands ghosting over your back. “It’s just us.” His words are so sweet, but they’re paired so perversely with the sensation of his hand, caressing the small of your back before trailing down, over your ass, to spank you one last time before slipping between your legs. He dips one finger inside you, to get it wet, then finds your aching bud with efficiency. 

“Oh, Mak— _Finn_ ,” you cry, burying your face in the mattress. He strokes in a languid circle, unhurried and unfazed by the desperate figure eight your hips begin to take up. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, one hand moving to your back to still you. “That’s good.” 

You shudder at the praise and try not to moan. You let Finn coat another finger in your wetness. “You’re doing so good.” Before long he is pumping two fingers in and out of you, keeping you still with that other, strong hand, and before long you can’t _stop_ yourself from moaning. At this angle, at this brutal pace, it feels almost as good as the dull weight of him. 

His hand leaves your back but you are too strung out to notice. Your head swims with only the sensation of this, his fingers, between your legs. You hardly notice when his rhythm slows and he seamlessly replaces his fingers with his dick. But when he sheathes himself inside you, your needy little moans give way to a loud, sharp cry.

Finn groans in harmony with you, breath shaking with the control he must be relying on. You can feel the struggle, the intention to be gentle versus the desire to set a brutal pace that’d have you both cumming in seconds. You’re both already so close. The embers need little more than a nudge and Finn knows it. He forces in another breath, hips snapping graciously as he fucks you, ignoring your desperate whines for now. 

“It’s just us,” he repeats, bending down to press a trail of wet kisses up your spine. He moves your hair off your neck and he’s so deep inside he can lean forward and suck on your pulse. 

Neither of you are quiet when Finn goes faster but it’s just as well because it helps distract you further. You don’t think again about the complicated web of emotions you’ve snared yourself in. You don’t think about any of it. All that matters is the present moment and _fuck_ if it’s not perfect. 

Before long you’re cumming, back arching into Finn’s chest, his breath heavy and surprised in your ear, and your walls clench and flutter around him, swallowing him tightly in your wetness, until he comes tumbling into the abyss with you. 

He tries his best to be quiet, forehead pressed against your back, hands gripping your biceps for leverage — you feel him kissing you, trying to press his moans into your skin, his gasps as he drags his teeth over your spine, and you’re helpless to do anything but moan in return.

Finn struggles to keep himself aloft, clutching at the headboard for support. You do as much as you can to help him stay upright, pressing your back still against him while he catches his breath, and leaves you, flopping onto the mattress beside you.

He finds the strength to help you settle, pulling you into him, your back to his chest, and his lips press warm kisses into your shoulder. You feel that flurry of anxiety blooming in your chest again but you push it down, focus on his hands resting on your hip. 

It doesn’t mean anything. None of it means anything. It’s temporary, it’s pleasant. You feel yourself slipping back into fatigue, feel it enveloping you, like Finn’s arms, and pulling you down...

There’s another knock, but it sounds like it’s coming from the door in Finn’s room. He swears under his breath and shifts under you. “I’ll go out first,” he says, kissing you once more, this time on the lips - and in an indulgent, languid little way like you have all the time in the world. 

You don’t want him to go. You want him to keep kissing you, until the kiss grows more fervent and you are aroused enough to take him again, despite how much that last go just took out of you. But more than anything you want to tell him. You want to get to the bottom of why this can’t be perfect. Why you feel the urge to frown over the impulse to be happy, to let go. 

Finn senses none of this. He’s too preoccupied with sneaking out of your room and into his before anyone realizes he hasn’t spent the night there. You wait to hear the door close, wait to hear him yell “ _Alright_ , Chewie,” before you even consider getting up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i don't know what to write  
> also me: more smut then :-)
> 
> WHEN UR SUCH A HOE FOR FINN THAT U COMPLETELY LOSE THE PLOT


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